After The Bombs
by Fedzgurl91
Summary: Bucky Barnes never fell off of the train in the Alps. Steve Rogers didn't have to wake up alone in the future. (Discontinued here because of formatting issues, you can find on Ao3 under the same name, with the intended typefaces and links that FFN won't allow me to include)
1. Chapter 1: March 1945

**AN:** This is probably going to end up being more of a series of one-shots that tie into a story, but I wanted to explore the idea of Bucky and Steve going down on the Valkyrie together, then taking on everything that has gone down in the MCU since together. Title is from my all-time favourite Stucky (and Steggy, for that matter) song, "After the Bombs" by The Decemberists.

* * *

It hadn't occurred to Steve how fortunate the Howlies had been at avoiding casualties until he found Bucky pinned down by gunmen on Zola's train. In their years of raiding Hydra bases, he had admittedly gotten confident – perhaps overly so. But it had been so easy, to bask in the glow of one victory after another, to develop increasingly more risky and complicated missions for their unit to inevitably succeed in, as their victories continued to mount. Seeing his best friend through the small window, pale-faced and wide-eyed and apparently out of ammunition, was a horrifying jolt of how stupid Steve had been, how much better a soldier his sergeant was than he.

Multiple times, Steve had brushed off Bucky's muttered complaints that he'd get them all killed, blamed it on the stress that kept piling up on their sniper and the booze that he'd been doing his best to ignore, poured Bucky into his bunk and tucked him in and joined him in pointedly ignoring it all the next morning. As he considered their situation, it occurred to Steve for the first time that he might have been right – that they might both be snuffed out here, on their most important mission of them all. A surge of adrenaline pumped through him at the thought, and he readied his side-arm and shield before pounding on the locking mechanism to open the door between the compartments, catching Bucky's eye and tossing him the gun before charging into the compartment. He'd be damned before he let them fail.

His pulse was still thundering in his ears after the final gunman went down, so much so that he barely registered Bucky's shaky, and ironically familiar, insistence that he'd had everything under control. "I know you did," Steve responded with a tight smile, checking his friend over and preparing to offer… _something_ before they continued on through the train. As he took a breath to continue, he heard the ominous whir of the damned Hydra beams powering up, and looked to the door just in time to see the soldier he thought he had incapacitated filling the space, the blue glow of his weapon pulsing in warning. "Get down!" he shouted, pulling Bucky behind him as the entire compartment seemed to erupt with blue light.

The shield took the brunt of the impact, thankfully, although the force of it knocked it from his hands and threw Steve into the wall of the compartment. He was able to regain his bearings immediately, only to watch in horror as Bucky, the idiot, snatched up the shield himself and tried to face the soldier with his side arm. There wasn't even time for Steve to react – one moment he was watching Bucky fire worthless shots at the Hydra armor, shield flopping uselessly on his forearm, the next he was blasted out the opening that Steve had barely realized was there.

Watching Bucky go flying sent Steve into immediate action: he snatched up the shield, flinging it at the Hydra goon with all of his might and smashing him in the neck plate with enough force to be certain that he was down for good, then rushed to the hole that had been ripped in the side of the train, tearing his helmet off as he screamed Bucky's name. Thankfully, somehow, he found him still there, gripping on a teetering handrail for dear life as the frosty air of the Alps whipped past them.

"Hang on!" Steve shouted over the continued noise of the train, shimmying out onto another piece of railing, still too far from Bucky's outstretched hand to do a damned bit of good. He inched as far as he could along the railing, stretching as much as possible as he shouted, "Grab my hand!" But it was obvious that there was still too much distance between them – Bucky's hand flailed towards him but still missed by inches.

A horrifying creak pierced through even the sound of the train and the wind, and Steve realized that Bucky's railing was coming loose. He let go himself, flinging his body thoughtlessly in the direction of his best friend in the world – his right hand barely managing to gain purchase on the molding of the torn-out wall, and his left hand closing desperately around Bucky's wrist. Steve's fingers squeezed so hard that he felt the metal of the train compressing beneath them, clinging desperately against the force of the wind and the weight of two grown men.

Bucky's left hand flailed for a moment, before gripping Steve's forearm like a vice, his eyes wide and panicked as they both clung to each other. "Can you climb?!" Steve asked, uncertain of how long he would be able to support the both of them and unable to look away from Bucky's face to see how close they were to escaping the pass. After a few more terrifying moments which stretched for far too long, Bucky nodded tightly, before pulling himself up against Steve's grasp, first grabbing hold of his elbow, then his shoulders, and finally managing to hoist himself back to the undamaged railing. Steve followed suit, climbing the scaffolding of the wall until he was able to reach the railing as well, then shimmying his way back to the opening of the train.

Before Steve could travel the final foot himself, Bucky's arm reached out of the train again, grabbing him with a strength that Steve was still too panicked to question and hauling him back inside of the damaged compartment. The momentum of the motion knocked them both to the floor, where they clung to each other in silence, barely noticing the continued howl of the wind outside of the train over the ragged sound of their panting breaths. Steve had no idea how long they remained there before Bucky pulled himself away, still grasping Steve's shoulders tightly enough to be uncomfortable. Bucky's pale blue eyes were as wide as Steve had ever seen them, his face still grey with fear, his hair windblown and disheveled, and yet Steve couldn't help himself from thinking that in that moment… he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

Time dragged on, Bucky staring at him with an intensity that made Steve's guts begin to twist in anticipation of what might come next, before Bucky drew a deep, ragged breath and pushed himself to his feet. "We need to move forward," he croaked, moving to the body of the Hydra soldier he had shot and stealing the dead man's rifle, "check on Gabe's progress."

Steve simply nodded in silence, standing on his own shaking legs and grabbing his shield with numb fingers. They moved through the next two compartments together, Steve doing his best to push the horror of the past few minutes out of his mind to focus on the mission. Bucky stalked ahead purposefully, seemingly recovered from the entire ordeal, before pausing at the door of the engine room, his grip on his weapon tight enough that Steve could see his knuckles go white.

"I'll stand watch," he said tightly, turning his back on the door and nodding to Steve, "make sure they don't have any more security coming up from the rear… you go in and wrap this up." Steve opened his mouth to argue, completely reluctant to let Bucky out of his sight, even for a moment, but Bucky turned to him, his eyes now dark and wild. "I can't go in there, Steve… I know we need his intel, but if I see that little rat bastard, I'm going to fucking kill him on sight."

It hadn't even occurred to Steve until that moment that it had been Zola who had experimented on Bucky while he'd been a POW… all the more reason that he never should have brought his friend on the damned train in the first place. He swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat at the thought, reaching out and squeezing Bucky's shoulder as he nodded – Steve would respect his wishes, would carry out the mission… but he needed the physical reminder that his best friend… his whole damned world, if he was being honest… was still here. "Bang the door if you need me," he finally heard himself say, giving the blue coat one final squeeze before turning the release handle on the door and letting himself into the engine room.

Gabe stood at the control panel of the train, depressing a lever as he smiled over the bound bodies of both Zola and the Hydra conductor. "What the hell took you so long, Cap?" He asked jovially, a proud smile breaking out on his face as the tinny voices of the other Commandoes whooped in victory on the other end of his radio.

Steve instinctively glanced over his shoulder, again reassuring himself that everything had turned out as he caught sight of Bucky's dark brown hair on the other side of the window.

It hadn't occurred to him how fortunate they had been to make it this far in the war and not lose a man.

In that moment, Steve swore to himself that he wouldn't take it for granted again – and that he'd die long before he put Bucky at such a risk again.


	2. Chapter 2: March 1945

**AN:** You might have thought that the plane sequences in CATFA couldn't have gotten any more melodramatic.

You thought wrong.

Steve and Bucky take down the Valkyrie, and decide to go to the end of the line together.

* * *

Steve was so focused on the enormous aircraft that was trying to make it out of the Hydra bunker that he noticed the battle going on around him only enough to avoid taking a hit from it, so it was quite the surprise when he stopped his sprint at the start of the runway (the plane was moving too fast to have a chance at catching it, now) to find Bucky panting at his side. "The hell do we do, now?" the brunette asked, glaring as the craft picked up more speed and made its way down the runway, all hope seeming lost for stopping it.

Before Steve could answer, or puzzle out how in the hell his friend had caught up with him when Steve had been at a dead sprint himself, Schmidt's ridiculous monster coupe pulled up next to them, with Colonel Phillips at the wheel and Peggy in the backseat. "Get in!" the Colonel shouted, and neither of them hesitated, Steve taking the front seat as Bucky squeezed into the back with Peggy. Phillips floored it after the plane, activating the thruster on the car so that they were rapidly gaining on both the aircraft and the end of the runway… it was going to be a close call for even one of them to make it onboard, but Steve was hardly surprised when he sensed Bucky standing and shifting behind him.

He was certain that Peggy hadn't intended for him to hear her murmuring to Bucky, but even over the roar of the engines he picked up her choked plea, "Bring him home, James…"

Pushing down his own rush of emotion, Steve called out to Phillips to keep the car steady and stood in his seat, glancing back to see Bucky tucking another side arm into the back of his belt. "Wait!" Peggy cried, momentarily startling the both of them before pulling Steve down into a searing kiss. He had no idea how long they gazed into each other's eyes after, but all too soon she murmured, "Go get him."

Steve nodded, glancing first to Bucky and then Phillips, before the Colonel's gruff voice chimed in, "Don't even think about it, Barnes… get your asses on the damned plane."

Bucky snorted, Peggy rolled her eyes and the spell was broken – although as he inched his way out onto the hood of the coupe, Steve did have to wonder what it was that Phillips had been warning against, joke or not. He kept his focus on the landing gear in front of them as the plane began to lift off, sensing Bucky as he joined him on the hood as well. They made momentary eye contact, Bucky giving him a brusque nod, before facing forward again and jumping in tandem – Steve grabbing hold of the left wheel, Bucky teetering for one horrifying millisecond before gaining purchase on the right. "You first!" Steve screamed over the deafening sounds of the rushing wind and roaring engines of the plane, and thankfully Bucky followed his command without hesitation, struggling for only a moment before hauling himself up onto the axel of the landing gear, just before the entire apparatus was pulled up into the belly of the craft.

Bucky had barely had time to move his rifle into a ready position before they heard boots on the catwalk above them, and he glanced back at Steve momentarily before crouching into the landing gear and giving him a silent nod – the message was clear enough, they'd treat it as they had treated most of their missions… Steve marching out into the open to draw out their opponent, while Bucky watched his six and picked off any of the Hydra goons that Steve missed.

The first few men went down without problem – Steve taking two down in hand-to-hand combat, while Bucky sniped another three before they had a chance to gain the upper hand. It wasn't until one of them moved to one of the bombs, proudly labeled **NEW YORK** on the side, that Steve recognized how much of a challenge their really faced – they looked to have cockpits and propellers installed, meaning they didn't just have to take the ship down: they had to make sure none of the passengers onboard were able to take off with any of the cargo. He immediately ran towards the soldier, ignoring the rush of air beneath them as the hold for the bomb opened as he focused solely on catching him before he could launch it.

"STEVE!" Bucky's harsh warning rang through the cavern of the cargo hold, and Steve turned towards it just in time to catch the assailant that was charging him with his shield. Before he could turn again, two shots rang out from behind him, aimed not at his own back but instead in the direction of the warning.

Bucky went down with a scream and a spray of blood, and as soon as Steve processed what had happened he leapt onto the bomb himself, twisting the shooter's head so that he felt the bastard's neck snap then punching through the glass of the cockpit, pulling the second soldier out by his collar and then dropping him mercilessly out the open hold. The immediate threats eliminated, he raced back to the platform, insides churning with panic as he found Bucky writhing on the floor.

"Bucky… hey, Buck…" he murmured, dropping to his knees next to his friend. The blue sleeve of his coat was completely soaked through with red at the shoulder, where he was trying to tighten his belt while breathing sharply through his nose. Steve grabbed the strap of leather from his hands, threading its end through the loop a few inches higher and then pulling it tight with as much care as he could.

Despite his attempts at being gentle, Bucky screamed in pain, his face an ashy grey as he tore his gaze away from the gore and stared into Steve's face, his eyes wide and panicked. "It's gonna be alright, you're gonna be fine…" Steve started, his voice stuttering as his mind completely blanked on him – he had no idea how to go forward; Jones had always taken care of first aid amongst the Howlies, but it was clear to see that whatever blood source the bullet had hit was a major one.

"Go…" Bucky moaned, reaching across his body with his right hand and grabbing the leather out of Steve's hand, then jerking it tight as he cried out again. Steve remained frozen, his hands still hovering over his friend's form, unable to focus on anything other than the awful sound of Bucky's harsh panting. Time stood still for a few awful moments as he continued to stare into Bucky's pale, twisted face, before his eyes flew open and glared up at Steve. "God dammit, get offa yer ass and go stop him, Rogers!" He growled, planting his boot firmly on the catwalk and pushing himself up to sitting on one of the support beams, "I'm not dead yet, Punk, but if you keep lollygagging a whole lot of people will be…"

Steve licked his lips, nodding stupidly but still unable to move. "Yeah, okay… you just… you stay here, I'll be right…"

Bucky chuckled darkly at that, the knuckles of his right hand going white as they gripped the belt even tighter. "I ain't going anywhere, I promise – just go finish this, alright?"

"Alright, Jerk." Steve responded automatically, finally rolling to his feet as Bucky smiled weakly at him. Much as he hated the thought of leaving him in such a state, he knew that Bucky was right. With one final nod, he turned and ran as quietly as possible in the direction of the control room, ready to make Schmidt pay once and for all for the pain and horror he had caused all of them.

Steve couldn't move, still frozen in place as he stared into the space that Schmidt had been standing. One moment the madman had been ranting and holding the cube, then he'd just… vanished. Into a space portal.

"The _fuck_ was that?" Asked a weak, shaky voice from the corner of the room.

Steve drew a sharp breath, pushing himself away from the wall and looking to the cockpit door just in time to watch Bucky stagger through it. "I told you to stay in the hold," he scolded, although it was a relief to see his friend upright, if barely. Steve tore off his helmet as he made his way across the flight deck, before slipping an arm around Bucky's waist and helping to lead him towards the Captain's seat, trying to assess his injuries as he slowly helped him to sit on the floor.

The space immediately beneath the tourniquet was so soaked with blood that it had turned black, and continued to soak down the majority of the sleeve on the left side. Bucky looked to be so deep in shock at this point that Steve doubted he noticed it. "There any way to land it?" Bucky asked, leaning his head back against the control panel as Steve frantically scanned his options.

"Maybe if I knew how to take it off autopilot," Steve answered tightly, "or land a plane in the first place."

Bucky huffed a short sigh, his eyes slipping closed as he began attempting to strategize as well. "And I'm guessing you can't just dump the payload?"

"You saw how many bombs there were back there, Buck…" Steve responded, their only option becoming clear to him as he began to plug in the code for Morita's radio transmission. "We'll be over New York within 40 minutes," he added quietly, looking at the flight monitor.

"So put it down in the Arctic," Bucky responded after a few moments silence, "crash it in the water, where they won't be able to cause any damage. Then… then you could probably swim for Greenland."

Steve had just finished setting the radio transmission up when he put together Bucky's meaning. "I'm not leaving without you," he argued, pulling his eyes away from the controls to glare down at Bucky's prone form. "We'll put it down as well as we can, I'm calling Morita right now – he can have Stark track us down, get us a rescue party…"

"Steve," Bucky croaked harshly, opening his eyes and glaring right back, "this plane's gotta weigh a hundred tons, and it's thrusters are hot. She'll melt through the ice and we'll be underwater in minutes." He licked his lips, which were far too pale for Steve's liking, before shutting his eyes again. "And even if it didn't, I'm gonna bleed out before they can even get a rescue plan in place."

"Dammit, Buck… don't say that," Steve argued immediately, turning back to the control panel and turning the radio dial to Morita's signal. He knew Buck was right – but he also knew there was no way that he was leaving him to freeze to death on his own. "Come in, this is Captain Rogers… do you read me?"

Morita acknowledged him, but Peggy immediately came over the line, demanding a sit rep. "Schmidt's dead, Bucky's been injured but otherwise we're alright… but the plane…"

"Give me your coordinates," Peggy stuttered, her voice uncharacteristically anxious, "I can try to find you a safe landing site."

"That's the problem… we're not gonna be able to make a safe landing. Buck and I already talked it over – this thing's moving too fast and it's headed straight for New York… but I think we can put her down in the water."

She argued with him, of course, begged Steve to wait for a better option, but he knew there wouldn't be one that wouldn't end with too many casualties to live with. He looked down at Bucky again, surprised to find pale grey eyes locked on him and completely focused. "Peggy, I have to do this. This is our choice." He responded thickly, holding Bucky's gaze as he came to accept what it all meant. They wouldn't get to go back to Brooklyn, wouldn't get their happy ending with Peggy and whatever girl Bucky decided to finally settle down with… but he could die with his best friend, saving his best girl and the rest of the world while he did it. Steve figured there were considerably worse ways to go.

He reached down, gently squeezing Bucky's good shoulder as he gave him a nod, then turned and grabbed hold of the wheel of the plane, pressing its course down into a nosedive without hesitation. As the nose of the plane came ducked under the clouds, he saw the ice shelf in front of them – they might still have a shot at being rescued, then… although the logical part of his mind knew that Bucky had been right. "Peggy…" he choked, remembering that they still had the line. "I'm gonna need to a raincheck on that dance."

"Alright, a week next Saturday." She responded immediately, "At the Stork club."

"You got it." Steve answered, swallowing around the lump in his throat as they continued to gather speed.

"Eight o'clock on the dot," Peggy continued, and Steve found himself almost painfully glad for the distraction. "Don't you dare be late, understood."

Steve hummed his agreement, eyes locked on the ice as they continued hurling towards it. "You know, I still don't know how to dance."

There was a beat on the other end, and Steve was afraid they'd lost the connection for a moment. "Have James teach you," Peggy responded thickly. "Tell him I'll bring a friend… just… you just be there"

Bucky laughed quietly from his spot on the floor, before speaking up as well. "Sounds great, Pegs."

They were nearly to the ice now, the ground approaching too fast for Steve to continue watching it – he kept the wheel depressed, but turned so he could face Bucky as well. "We'll have the band play something slow… don't wanna step on either of your toes."

He'd barely finished the sentence before they were slamming into the ice, the lights of the dash going dead immediately. Bucky moaned as he was jostled on the floor, and Steve climbed out of the captain's seat as fast as he could, knowing that there would be no power left in the radio, anyway.

"You should go," Bucky said weakly, shaking slightly as he curled in on himself. "With the serum… you could probably get to safety… or at least somewhere you ain't gonna sink."

"Like hell," Steve answered, sitting next to Bucky on the floor of the flight deck and hesitating for just a moment, before gingerly wrapping his arms around him, taking care not to jostle his injured arm. "This ain't the end of the line, Jerk."

Bucky went still at that, collapsing slightly against Steve's chest with a wet laugh. The hull of the ship creaked ominously around them, then dropped a few feet as it began to crack through the ice. "Listen… Bucky…" Steve started quietly, only to have his throat close up as Bucky turned his face to him.

They sat there in silence, shivering against each other as the cold rushed in through the broken glass of the cockpit, before Bucky licked his lips, his eyes locked on Steve's as he rasped, "Stevie… I…"

Whatever it was that he was preparing to say was swallowed up by a roar of noise, then suddenly icy water was rushing in through the front of the plane. Steve pulled him close, planning to swim to safety, but between the cold of the water and the force of the current, he could barely make headway, even with the power of the serum. He clung to Bucky as his vision began to blackout, glancing down and noticing with relief that his eyes were already closed, before bowing his head and allowing the darkness to take him as well.


	3. Chapter 3: April 2012

**AN:** A brief interlude with a bunch of random SHIELD agents stuck on a cold, tedious recovery mission above the Arctic Circle.

* * *

It had taken hours for the extraction team to finally find a body in the frozen wreckage, and for a moment they were all stunned to discover that there was not one man but two that were frozen solid in the ice. SHIELD historians confirmed that James Barnes, Captain America's second in command, had boarded the ship with him on the fateful day that Rogers saved the Western World at the expense of his own life, so of course it figured that they had died as they had lived.

"Poor bastards must have huddled together for warmth before the hull crashed in," Grimes muttered, his voice barely audible over the hiss of ice melting beneath the plasma beams.

"It's too bad they couldn't have given us a couple of inches to work with," griped the nearest worker – Jones, if he remembered correctly – as he flipped the switch on his own plasma ray and rubbed his hands together for warmth. Grimes glared at him as they made eye contact, silently warning the young agent to show some respect for two of the greatest War heroes in American history, and after a few seconds Jones dropped his eyes again, sheepishly returning to his work. "At least it was quick," he added quietly.

"Just make sure you get them both out undamaged," Grimes huffed, before leaving the station to check on the team working on the tech recovery, "after all this time… they deserve to go home in one piece."

The work of cutting two grown men out of a solid block of ice was far more arduous and time-consuming than any of them had planned, and over the course of the next few hours it seemed as if the majority of the team that had been sent to examine the wreckage had been by to watch as he worked. Jones tried not to let it get to him – any more than he was letting the cold and the stress of the job get to him, at least – but it was definitely a relief once he had separated them enough that they could haul the Captain's body away from the other and continue excavating without concern of permanently disfiguring the corpse of a legend.

It was around 1400 that the flight surgeon for the mission stopped by, officially to check on the shape of the workers, although they all knew that he wanted to get a look at what they had jokingly begun calling the Capsicles as well. She stood for a long time over Roger's body, studying his face with an uncomfortable amount of scrutiny before making her way to Barnes… they were nowhere near as close to having the sergeant out, but had made it to the eerie level where both men's features were easily distinguishable through the ice. "The tissue integrity is remarkable…" she murmured quietly, hovering closer as she studied the skin on their faces, so blue that it practically matched their outfits. "I suppose with the serum it makes sense for Captain Rogers, but…"

"They've been frozen the whole time," Jones responded, before he could check himself. As the most junior agent on the mission he knew he should probably get better at keeping his mouth shut, but he never had been particularly good at keeping his opinions to himself – probably the reason he had ended up with SHIELD instead of the Army. "I mean… wouldn't the ice preserve them?"

"To an extent," the doctor replied quietly, leaning closer to Barnes and pointing out the blackened, gnarled mess of tissue that was visible at the end of his left sleeve, "but given how long it's been, I would have expected something more like this…" She stood back thoughtfully, looking again between the two bodies, before calling out an order. "Let's take a break, gentleman – I want to examine them a bit closer before extraction is completed."

None of the workers had to be told twice, and immediately shut down their equipment to make their way to warm up in one of the temporary shelters set up. Jones allowed himself a few minutes of shut-eye, hoping that whatever tests it was that the scientists decided to run would allow him at least an hour's rest before getting back to the hard part of the extraction. He opened his eyes an indeterminable amount of time later to a flurry of action, watching with groggy surprise as the workers sprinted about among the wreckage and the flight surgeon shouted into the nearest com.

"I know how improbable it is, but I'm telling you… I have weak vitals on _both_ of them. We need a medevac here immediately – I don't have the equipment to safely thaw them, yet alone start resuscitation."

Jones frowned at the words, his brain beginning to piece the information together – unless he'd slept for _far_ longer than he'd intended to, that made it sound like… but there was no way that the bodies, the men, could still be alive after 70 years in solid ice.

"I don't care, we need to get them to New York, now. I know there isn't a precedence for it, but… we'll make one. Tell Fury I'll be in touch with what we need, have him set up rooms at Sinai. Unless he wants SHIELD to be responsible for killing Captain America."


	4. Chapter 4: April 2012

**AN:** Steve wakes up alone in an alien New York... the news gets worse from there.

* * *

 _"Just an absolutely gorgeous day here at Ebbets' field. The Phillies have managed to tie it up at four to four, but the Dodgers have three men on…"_

Steve blinked gritty eyes open, groggily recognizing Red Barber's voice as the Dodger's game call played from the radio in the corner. It only took a moment for his eyes to focus, although the sense of disorientation continued as he glanced around the small, bright room he found himself in. It looked to be a medic room of some sort, although it seemed decidedly… off. With a deep breath, he pushed himself slowly off of the bed, sitting up and taking his surroundings in better. As he woke further, he began noticing the sounds from the street below his window, but again the quality was odd. Wrong. It was as if someone had created a facsimile of New York, but had rushed the details.

The sun was shining and the Dodgers were playing and Steve couldn't smell a damned thing through the open window – that would have been an odd occurrence _before_ the serum, but now that he wasn't constantly battling with sinusitis…

His anxiety continued to build as the door to his room opened, a woman who Steve assumed he was supposed to believe was a nurse entering with a coy smile. "Good morning," she said pleasantly, her movements slow and deliberate as he studied her further. She wore her hair in strange, loose curls – definitely not a nurse, then, but it seemed strange for a dame in any type of professional job. Steve would admit that he was the last person who could be considered an expert on women's fashion… but he knew something was drastically odd when he saw it. "Or… should I say afternoon?" She teased, stepping up to the food of his bed.

Seeing her head-on made his impression even stronger – her tie was too broad for a woman's, and… God help him, he couldn't help noticing it… the lines of the brassiere underneath her shirt were wrong.

He'd spent enough time around showgirls to know what the most flattering of ladies underwear looked like, and he'd never seen such a thing.

"Where am I?" He demanded, keeping his voice as calm and quiet as possible as he began assessing his exit points.

"You're in a recovery room in New York City," the woman responded pleasantly, although the way she fidgeted was enough of a tell – she was lying.

 _"The Dodgers take the lead eight to four with an inside the park Grand Slam. Oh ho, Dodgers! Everyone's on their feet… what a game we have here today folks… what a game indeed!"_

Steve looked at the radio again, the call of the game suddenly providing him with an image clear as the room he was sitting in – Reiser tattooing the ball into the right field corner, Steve spilling his beer all over Bucky's lap as Herman rounded third, and neither of them giving a damn as Reiser crossed the plate and put the Dodgers up 8-4. It had been a beautiful day… Bucky had bullied him into going to the game with him, bought his tickets to try to get Steve's mind off of the fact that his Ma was on death's door…

"Where am I, really?" He demanded, pulling himself back into the present.

The woman laughed pleasantly, but tensed up as she answered, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"The game," Steve answered shortly, his anger growing by the moment, "It's from May 1941. I know because I was there." The smile dropped off of her face immediately and Steve rolled to his feet – although he wouldn't usually dare try to intimidate a woman, he'd be damned if he continued to sit in this strange room and wait for whatever back-up she had coming. "Now I'm gonna ask you again, where am I? And where's Sergeant Barnes?"

"Captain Rogers," she murmured, pressing a button that flashed a red light in her hand.

"Who are you?" He demanded more forcefully, now towering over her, but before either of them could continue the door to the room opened again, and two soldiers in unfamiliar tactical gear made their way into the room. Before they could bother with weapons Steve pushed his way past the actress and kicked both of the men through the wall, following through the flimsy hole they left. Unsurprisingly, he found himself in an enormous soundstage, similar to those he'd been filmed in while in Los Angeles but far more empty.

Steve ignored the woman's shouting and made his way for the stage's door, his mind racing as he sprinted into a crowded, glassed-in hallway. The woman's voice sounded over a tannoy system, sounding an alarm that immediately turned the attention of all of the suits on the floor towards him. While his instincts found the exit door immediately, Steve forced himself to focus for a moment, glancing around at the other doors in sight – whoever it was that had dug him out of the wreckage must have found Bucky, too, and he was hardly going to abandon him now.

He took off at a sprint in the direction opposite the main exit, shouting Bucky's name as he ran and listening for any form of response… he could hardly hope for stealth at this point, as all of the workers in the building seemed to be making their way towards him, but if he could at least find Bucky…

The end of the corridor turned up nothing but a stairwell, which Steve burst into and ran up the stairs. Logically, he knew it was a lost cost, but the longer that he went without a response to Bucky's name, and the stranger the building seemed to become, the more panicked he felt himself growing. It would occur to him much later that it was odd that none of the building staff tried to fire on him, but for the time he ignored the blessing, instead leading a frantic cat-and-mouse chase through the building, tearing into office spaces and meeting rooms but coming up empty in his search for any type of holding facility (or… God forbid, another medical lab).

He was finally cornered on the fifth floor, an entire wall of soldiers in flack suits and with some sort of electrically-charged weaponry blocking him into a conference room, when a tall, bald black man in a long leather jacket made his way into the room. "At ease, soldier," the man drawled, gazing intensely at Steve with his eye that wasn't covered.

"Who are you, and where the hell am I?" Steve demanded, his muscles bunching up as he tried to look imposing as possible, even though he knew there was no way he was breaking out of his current situation without back-up. _Where was Bucky?_

"My name is Nick Fury," the man answered placidly, "I'm the director of an American defense agency called SHIELD." Before Steve could interrupt (surely he would have heard of such an organization before now), he pointed out the window, "And as for where we are, it should still look a _bit_ familiar…"

Steve shifted so that he could keep the guards in his peripheral vision as he glanced out the huge bay of windows behind him, but as he registered the view, he dropped his guard, turning completely and walking to the window in awed confusion.

Two blocks over the unmistakable silhouette of the Empire State building rose above the surrounding buildings… although not by much. As he looked closer, Steve could make out the skeleton of Manhattan, but a Manhattan that he would never have been able to imagine. Stories below them, oddly sleek-looking taxis sat jammed in traffic, and Steve's vision was good enough that he could make out the odd clothing of the people of the sidewalks – some similar to the slim suits the men in the lobby had been wearing, others… "What…" he heard himself begin, his voice choked and weak. "I don't… I don't understand."

This was New York, that much he was putting together, and unless HYDRA had developed some sort of mind-control ability that was causing him to hallucinate the entire thing, it was far too big a hoax for anyone to pull off. The man, Fury, gave him a few moments to get himself together, before answering quietly. "You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years."

Steve turned back to him, his mouth hanging open in shock. He vaguely noticed that Fury had continued talking, but the words were lost to the roar of panic that buzzed in his ears. Seventy years. He'd been in the ice for seventy damned years, and they'd pulled him out alive…

"Where's Bucky?" He asked again, raggedly. Whatever Erskine's serum had done to his cells must have allowed him to survive while he was frozen, but Bucky…

Fury paused in whatever it was that he had been saying. "… Sergeant Barnes is still at the Hospital for Special Surgery… I'm afraid he wasn't in quite as good of shape as you were, Captain."

"Take me there," Steve ordered, stalking his way towards the door – his sense of relief over hearing that Bucky had survived was too great for him to question the circumstances any further.

The guard around Fury shifted nervously as Steve made his way towards them, but the man simply nodded, waving the majority of the security off before turning and stalking out the door, clearly expecting Steve to follow at his heels.

They exited the building in silence, Steve keeping his gaze focused on the back of Fury's head as he did his best to ignore the stares of the workers that they passed… it seemed as if the whole of the building had come out to see him, which only made his sense of disquiet grow. He hesitated as Fury climbed into a large, black truck in front of the building – his tactical mind warning him that the entire set-up could all too easily be a trap, but as he glanced around the alien landscape around him he decided to damn the consequences and climbed in behind him.

He couldn't imagine that things could get much worse… or any weirder… than they already were.

"I am sorry about that little show," Fury spoke up quietly, after the truck had pulled into traffic. "We thought it would be easier to break the news to you slowly…" Steve remained silent – he couldn't think of any appropriate response to the apology, and wasn't about to return the sentiment for how he had reacted. Thankfully, Fury took the hint, letting the silence continue until they had turned onto what was marked as Park Avenue… although Steve would never have recognized it.

"You know, Rogers…" Fury began delicately, "it was surprising enough to come to the realization that you were alive while we were digging you out, but the doctors have all decided to just hand wave it to the effects of the serum." Steve frowned as he continued staring out the window, waiting for the man to get to the point – assuming he had one. "But Sergeant Barnes… there's no medical or scientific explanation for how the hell he was still breathing," Fury continued slowly, "D'you have any insight?"

Steve turned his gaze from the window to where his hands were folded in his lap, clenching his hands into fists for a moment as he pictured Bucky strapped to the bench in Austria. "You said you were intelligence…" he began, shaking the vision from his head, "so I'm assuming you saw our records?" Fury simply hummed his affirmative, waiting for Steve to continue. "During his time… while Hydra had him as a POW. Uh… the plant was a weapons-facility, but they were also conducting human experiments." Steve swallowed thickly, trying his best to keep a lid on his emotions. "Bucky… Sergeant Barnes was one of them. The only one that survived, actually."

"He ever say what they did to him?" Fury asked after a beat.

Steve shook his head miserably, in part to answer but also in an attempt to fight down the memories that were bubbling to the top… Bucky, pale and disheveled in the bar in London, shakily joking _I'm turning into you… it's like a terrible dream_. The insane hours that he was able to pull taking watch for the others when they grew too exhausted to continue… his strength on the train… his speed in catching up to Schmidt's plane. "No…" Steve croaked, "we didn't… he swore he was fit for battle, and the SSR doctors cleared him for duty." The sounds of his nightmares on the other side of the tent when he finally _did_ sleep. "I didn't want to make him remember it."

Fury pursed his lips as he nodded. "But it's possible…"

"That Zola injected him with something?" Steve interrupted, his face stony as Fury raised his eyebrows at him. "Yeah, I'm sure they did. Hydra killed Erskine trying to get his formula, plus they had Schmidt's blood to work from." He turned his attention back out the window, hoping that Fury would take the hint and quit with the questions.

To Steve's relief, he did – they rode in silence the rest of the way, until the truck pulled up between two massive buildings, both labeled as medical centers. Steve followed closely behind Fury as they made their way through bright, polished hallways that looked nothing like the hospitals of his youth… he might have taken a moment to marvel over the difference, if not for his growing need to see Bucky safe. He realized, as they took a seat in uncomfortable plastic chairs in an empty, well-decorated room that he hadn't even asked what it was that they were holding his friend for – Fury had said that Bucky wasn't in as good of shape as Steve (who had apparently woken up with no consequences at all)… but that didn't actually give any indication as to how he was.

Before Steve could think to ask, a team of people in strange green pajamas came through the door, the lead one pulling off a thin blue cap as he looked nervously at Fury. "Director, sir…" he hesitated as he glanced at Steve, "if you wouldn't mind stepping outside to discuss…"

"If it's about James Barnes, I want to hear it," Steve interrupted immediately, rising to his feet and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Sir, I'm afraid HIPAA requires…" the doctor began uncertainly, but Fury shook his head shortly.

"Captain Rogers has clearance," Fury stated calmly, "he can hear it."

"Mr. Fury, you know I can only talk to next-of-kin and power of attorney about health information…"

"He's my _family_ ," Steve argued harshly, his patience growing thin over the entire argument. "Just… how is he?"

The doctor looked at the others gathered around him before heaving an enormous sigh. "Mr. Barnes was still in significant hypothermic shock when he got here, but after a couple of blood transfusions and warm saline he became stable. We took him back to the OR once we were sure he wouldn't crash, and we brought in a vascular surgeon from Presby to see what could be done about the arm… but there was too much necrotic tissue to even attempt to re-attach it." Steve's confusion must have shown on his face, because the doctor backtracked for a moment. "His left shoulder… the blood supply looks like it was cut-off before he was… frozen. Whatever it was that allowed the rest of him to make it through the freezing process – it wasn't maintained in the arm. We had to amputate it."

Steve exhaled harshly, shifting his weight as he let the information sink in – he still wasn't one-hundred percent sure what he was being told, but… Bucky'd lost his arm. He couldn't begin to imagine how he would deal with that. "But he's… okay? Otherwise?"

This time another doctor stepped forward, a younger woman in the back. "It's hard to say exactly yet – we had to use an enormous amount of sedatives to keep him under for the surgery, and we just wrapped up… but all of his vital signs have held steady, so barring any unforeseen brain damage from, well, everything else, he should make a full recovery."

"We'll be able to assess him better in the morning," another doctor added, "once he's more awake, we'll assess his full neurological functions."

Steve nodded, backing off a bit as he processed it all. "Take me to him," he calmly demanded after pulling himself back together.

The doctors looked to Fury questioningly, but the director simply shrugged, apparently washing his hands of the debate. "The nursing staff will have just finished bandaging the arm, then we planned on moving him to a private room, so that he doesn't have to go through the stress of waking up in the PACU," the woman doctor spoke up, "but once he's moved, we can have an orderly come down for you."

Steve nodded tightly – while he would have liked a more immediate action, he was glad that he at least did not have to argue with them. Fury stepped forward once he realized Steve was done asking questions, speaking in an undertone about confidentiality forms and clearances, and before long the doctors were making their way for the exit. "I need to get back to work," Fury said shortly, addressing Steve, "we'll be leaving a couple of security guards here for you… no offense, but we can't have Barnes pull an escape attempt here like you did." Steve didn't love the plan, or the implication, but he simply shrugged in response. "I'll send someone by in the morning to talk to the both of you, once we know better how he's doing and you've had a chance to discuss where you'd like to go from here…" Fury trailed off at the end, apparently waiting for Steve's approval.

"Yeah, that's fine…" he responded placidly, wondering if Fury was trying to do him a kindness by allowing him to stay with Bucky, or coming to his senses in realizing that he wouldn't be able to make Steve leave without a hell of a fight. He hoped it was the latter.

Fury nodded in response, making his way towards the exit with a flippant, "Welcome back, Cap."

As soon as the door had closed behind Fury, Steve sank back into the plastic chairs again, collapsing on himself under the weight of his emotions. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, finally allowing himself to feel the wash of relief over knowing that Bucky was still alive, while simultaneously being dragged down over his grief for all of the time that they had missed. Seventy years… the New York he had known and loved and longed to come home to was gone forever, and their friends – what were the chances that any of the Howlies were still alive? And Peggy… his shoulders hitched on their own accord, just once, before he locked the thought down with a vengeance. He could mourn for what was gone later – soon, Bucky would need him, and Steve was determined to be the strong one for a change, to return the favor that his best friend had paid him time and time again in their youth.

Finally, after an indeterminable amount of time that seemed to drag forever, the door to the waiting room opened again, and a young woman in purple pajamas made her way into the room with a shy, "Captain Rogers? I'm here to take you upstairs…"

Steve was out of his chair in an instant, wiping his palms nervously on the front of his pants as he followed her out the door. Four large guards waited in the hallway, and he did his best not to feel disgusted by them, instead throwing his shoulders back and walking as proud as he could as they made their way through the empty corridors, ignoring the feeling that he was being marched to imprisonment.

After a long elevator ride and a subsequent march down another hallway (how many people were there in New York now that it required such an enormous hospital?) the orderly finally stopped outside a closed door, glancing back at first Steve, then the guards, before silently opening the door. The room inside was small and sterile looking, with two small beds separated by a flimsy cloth curtain. The bed closest to the door was empty, but next to it…

Steve's entire body felt numb as he caught sight of Bucky, and it was a surprise when he suddenly found himself stooping over the railing to his bed. Bucky looked frighteningly similar to the last time that Steve had saw him – washed out and grey in a way that his friend never should have been, with dark circles under his eyes and a blue tinge around his lips. Worse, he looked far smaller than he had any right to, laying listlessly against the mint green sheets that matched the awful pajamas they had dressed him in. He was hooked up to what seemed like dozens of wires and tubes, all leading in to unrecognizable machines and monitors. Steve's eyes froze on the thick, white bandage that extended an inch beyond the short sleeve of his gown, struggling for a moment to comprehend that there was _nothing_ beyond it… while he had fully understood what the doctors had meant when they said amputation, actually seeing it, and at Bucky's side…

He shook his head to clear it, tearing his eyes away from the injury and instead focusing on the steady rise and fall of Bucky's chest, reminding himself of the most important bit of it all – he was alive. He was jarred from his thoughts by the sound of a chair scraping on the linoleum floor, and the orderly looked apologetic as she slid it next to where he stood. "In case you wanted to sit next to him," she explained quietly, "the nurses figured that he would be waking up within the next hour…"

Steve nodded, dropping into the chair and half-listening as the woman pointed out the 'call button' and instructed him to use it if needed, and especially to alert the nurses once Bucky did come to. Finally realizing that he wasn't interested in talking, she made her way out of the room, closing the door softly behind her, and Steve deflated again, gingerly grabbing up Bucky's right hand between both of his own. "We've got ourselves in a god damned mess, Buck," he murmured with a shudder, looking over his shoulder to confirm that no one was watching before leaning back in his chair, not bothering to remove his left hand from its hold on Bucky's.

He settled in again to wait, focusing on the rise and fall of Bucky's chest, and occasionally moving his thumb to his wrist to feel the steady pulse beneath it. He couldn't help but wonder how many times Bucky had done the same, felt the same sense of helplessness as he watched Steve struggle through bouts of pneumonia and fever…

Steve's thoughts were interrupted by a low groan, and his eyes immediately flicked to Bucky's face, his own pulse rising as he watched his friend's brows contract in pain. "Bucky?" He asked shakily, letting go of his hand and leaning closer to the bed. It was unclear as to whether he was reacting to pain or coming out of a dream, but when he began to writhe against the bed Steve laid a gentle hand against his breastbone, rubbing it lightly. "Bucky? Buck… you can wake up. We're alright… we're safe."

After a few minutes of coaxing Bucky finally opened his eyes, blinking sluggishly as he frowned up at Steve in confusion. "S-Steve?"

It was so similar to their first meeting in the HYDRA lab that Steve wanted to cry over it, but instead he swallowed down the lump in his throat and forced a smile. "Hey Buck… turns out we're a hell of a lot harder to kill than planned."

Bucky blinked at him again, his right eye slightly faster than the other, before huffing a short laugh. "Of course your ass was stubborn enough to survive an arctic plane crash…" he muttered, the right side of his mouth curling into a sardonic smile.

"Yeah," Steve laughed brokenly, "and you're dumb enough to follow me, so which of us is the real idiot?"

Bucky hummed in response, licking his lips then stilling as his gaze drifted to the tower of monitors Steve was sat next to. "Where are we?" He asked slowly, anxiety creeping into his voice.

"Manhattan, if you'll believe it." Steve responded, keeping his eyes locked on Bucky's face, "I didn't until they drove me past the Empire State Building."

Bucky, who'd always had the better imagination of the two of them, was quiet for a moment, still frowning as he glanced at his surroundings. "When are we, then?" He murmured.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, totally unprepared with how to deal with that question, considering he was still struggling with it himself. "Yeah… that's the complicated part," he started slowly, pushing his fringe sideways against his forehead. "Uh, apparently we were lost in the ice for a while. It's… uh…" He sucked in a breath, knowing there was no point in continuing to stall with it, "It's 2012, Bucky."

Bucky laughed outright at that, his head falling back against his pillow. "C'mon Steve… you wanna try to prank me you could have at least picked a funny date. 1999 or somethin', get me excited about seeing the millennium switch over." He rolled his eyes fondly, smirking up at Steve, "Go on, pull the other one."

"No, Bucky… I'm serious. Unless everyone I've seen today – and I've seen a hell of a lot of people – are all in on the world's most elaborate hoax."

"That's sixty eight years, Steve," Bucky responded, a frown line forming between his eyes even as he continued to smile, "It's… that's not possible."

Steve shrugged helplessly, fully understanding Bucky's argument but unable to explain it any better. It would be one thing if he could take him outside to see, but…

The smile had completely vanished off of Bucky's face by now, and he continued to frown as he stared at the ceiling, licking his lips again in silence. Steve assumed he was probably thirsty and moved to check the water jug on the table tray behind him. He'd barely turned his back before he heard the exclamation of surprise, and turned back in time to watch Bucky scramble to sit up, staring down in horror at the stump of his left arm. Steve felt his stomach drop to the floor, hurrying back to the bedside and hovering awkwardly – he'd had no idea how to break the news to Bucky, but somehow he felt like he'd failed already. "They, uh… they tried to fix it, but the bullets had done too much damage, and then the ice…"

Bucky made a strangled noise, his eyes still wide and shining as they stared down at his sleeve, and Steve wanted nothing more than to touch him, to try to tell him that it would all be fine… but he couldn't bring himself to move either. It was incredible – in all of his life, Steve had never felt so out of his depth; comforting the person that meant the most to him shouldn't have been this hard. "Buck?" He finally asked quietly, after far too long of waiting in tense silence.

Bucky didn't look at him, but continued frowning at the sleeve, before responding quietly, "2012, you said?"

Steve nodded dumbly, before realizing that Bucky could hardly see it as he stared in the opposite direction. "Yeah, Bucky. Yeah, it's 2012."

It was like flipping a switch – Bucky turned his face back to Steve with a huge smile, one that was almost more painful to look at than his frown of despair moments before. "2012 –" he murmured giddily, "I can just imagine the crazy shit they can replace it with, then. Probably already have robot arms, just sitting in the supply rooms. Make me part robot, like Robert Crane in those comics…"

Steve finally let his hand rest against Bucky's good shoulder, squeezing it as gently as he could as he felt his heart break over Bucky's obvious attempt at keeping a brave face. He was unsure what his own facial expressions were doing anymore, but whatever it was made Bucky stop talking, looking up at Steve with his usual lazy smile for just a moment, before the corner of his mouth wobbled, then his face collapsed completely, an awful keening noise escaping his throat. Steve reacted immediately, leaning across the bars of the bed and pulling Bucky gently against his chest, constantly aware of his injuries. " _Fuck_ , Steve…" Bucky moaned, before giving in and sobbing openly.

Steve shifted closer, damning the guards and the orderlies and the opinions of anyone else that might happen to see as he cradled Bucky against him, stroking his back in stoic silence as he let him cry for the both of them.

* * *

 **AN2:** Bucky's reference comes from the earliest cyborg reference I could find with limited research time - a DC comics character called Robotman who debuted in 1942. Also, I couldn't help but cry over the realization that the game broadcast SHIELD played for Steve to wake up to was from May 25 1941, and the MCU Wiki lists Sarah Rogers' death as June 5 1941 - I figured I'd throw that tidbit into the story so you could all suffer with me.


	5. Chapter 5: April 2012

**AN:** Bucky gets discharged from the hospital, and both he and Steve are sent away for some R&R. It results in more problems than solutions.

* * *

Bucky was released from the hospital two days later – he likely could have left after he had passed all of the necessary health screenings the next afternoon, but his surgeons seemed too awed by the rate at which he was healing to accept it as safe. Steve spent his time alternating between uncomfortable hospital chairs and even worse hospital beds, too unwilling to let Bucky out of his sight to go anywhere without him. SHIELD agents brought him clothing and reading material, and while Bucky seemed worn and withdrawn, he had largely held himself together after the first day's breakdown.

Neither of them talked about it again.

Fury stopped by again just before Bucky's discharge, bringing a tall, imposing woman who introduced herself as Agent Hill with him. While Fury apparently handled the hospital staff, Hill informed the both of them that they would be flown out that evening to a SHIELD safehouse where they could recover and bring themselves up to speed in peace.

"No offense, Ma'am, but what the hell are we s'posed to do with ourselves in the boondocks?" Bucky groused, smoothing his hair down irritably from where he had mussed it up struggling to change into the short-sleeved shirt she'd provided him. "We spent our whole lives in New York… only time we've lived in nature has been because of the war… it ain't exactly a comforting environment."

If his outburst had rattled Agent Hill at all, she didn't show it. "I understand your concerns, Sergeant Barnes, but there's quite a lot that the both of you need to catch up on and become acclimated to, and…"

"And you don't want freaks like us around civilians until you've got a plan in place," Bucky muttered, jamming the stump of his left arm into his jacket and pointedly ignoring the empty sleeve as he shrugged the rest of it on.

"Bucky," Steve sighed, giving Agent Hill an apologetic look and motioning for her to continue. It wasn't like Buck to be so rude to a dame, but his patience with his current situation had been growing shorter by the day, and the news of the trip had clearly stretched his limits.

He remained silent for the rest of the encounter, placidly watching as Hill handed them both small tablets, which she explained had been loaded with books and newspapers, and quickly walked Steve through how to purchase further if they finished them or were interested in something else. Although the signs were subtle, Steve could tell that Bucky was at least interested in the technology, poking around on his own as Hill showed him a few key features before explaining that they would have regular visits from SHIELD agents who could help them with any confusions that they had once they were at "The Retreat."

After Bucky had signed the appropriate paperwork, and yet again refused to even discuss the idea of coming back to the hospital for physical therapy – "There's nothing there to rehabilitate, what the hell is the point of it?" – they were finally cleared to leave, following Fury and Hill out of the hospital through an small, secluded exit that Steve had to figure wasn't used for regular patients. He couldn't help wondering if Bucky hadn't been on to something: if SHIELD wasn't scared of them, and trying to keep them hidden from the public at large. Unlike Bucky, though, Steve was somewhat glad for it… the idea of some time alone to reconcile it all, to get his thoughts in order with no one other than Bucky around to have to hide what a mess he really was, would be far preferable to being forced to perform with the world watching.

They rode through the city in another large black truck, both too busy observing everything they could that passed by on the streets to converse with either each other or the SHIELD agents that accompanied them. The thing that took Steve this time, when he could spend more time observing instead of riding in a low-grade panic over Bucky's condition, was how much their home had changed. Manhattan was still packed tight with people and dirty and loud… but it seemed so bright and colorful now. And it wasn't just because of his vision changes after the serum – the lights that illuminated everything, and the fact that even the billboards seemed to have moving pictures on them now, there was so much to take in that he couldn't have imagined trying to talk around all of it, anyway.

Steve was somewhat surprised when they stopped outside of the building that he recognized as the one that he'd woken up in – SHIELD headquarters, he was assuming – but Fury paused before stepping out of the car to explain. "We have a jet on the roof to take you to the retreat, the cabin is in a classified location, so the more covert the transport, the better. I trust you won't have a problem with that?" His tone implied that they didn't actually have an option, and Bucky simply shrugged quietly, leaning out his window and craning his neck at the view of the Empire State building.

"That's fine," Steve answered quietly, waiting as both Hill and Fury climbed out of the car. "When will we be leaving?"

"The jet's already prepped to go, we'll just need to get you upstairs." Hill answered efficiently, standing beside the door as Steve crawled out behind them.

After a few moments, Bucky followed as well, listing awkwardly to the right as he stepped out of the car before righting himself and rolling his eyes at what must have been the obvious look of concern on Steve's face. "Christ almighty… the docs said my balance would be off while I got used to being lopsided, don't be such a damned worrywart." Steve frowned at him, but before he could grouse back Bucky's eyes went wide, turning to Agent Hill with a look of mortified apology. "I'm real, real sorry Ma'am… it's been a long coupla days."

Hill actually cracked a smile at his words, shaking her head lightly. "It's hardly the worst thing that I've heard today, Sergeant Barnes – no apologies needed." She motioned towards the building, indicating wordlessly for them to follow her as she lead the way inside. "Let's get the both of you gentlemen to your chariot, something tells me some R&R would do you both good."

Bucky shot Steve a skeptical look, which he responded with a quick shrug before following in Agent Hill's wake. The few workers in the main lobby seemed to be consciously avoiding them, a far-cry from the unabashed stares that Steve had dealt with a few days prior, but when he noticed the tight look on Bucky's face and the way he had rounded his shoulders to draw attention away from his empty sleeve, Steve was glad for it.

The four of them got into an empty elevator alone, with Fury bidding them goodbye halfway through the ride, promising that he would be in touch and instructing them to email if they needed anything while at the retreat. Steve frowned slightly, getting ready to ask what he meant, when Bucky murmured, "The automatic telegram thingamabob on the tablets." Fury's lips twitched slightly, giving them both a salute as the elevator doors closed and Agent Hill selected the 'R' button next to the door.

A few moments later the elevator opened again, the wind whipping in as they looked out to the open rooftop. Although theirs was far from the highest building, for a terrible moment Steve pictured the open train in the Alps, and it was all that he could do now to grab at Bucky, instead closing his eyes for a beat and shaking the thought off. Bucky was looking at him strangely when he opened his eyes again, but Steve pretended not to notice, following Agent Hill out and moving towards the small aircraft that was sitting on the landing pad in the middle of the dais in front of them.

"Not much of a jet," Bucky muttered as Hill opened the hatch to the plane, and Steve couldn't help wondering if his friend was experiencing as much anxiety about being in the air again as he was. The way he marched in immediately, finding a seat in the back and strapping himself in, told Steve that it wasn't likely… but then, Bucky'd had the good fortune of not seeing over the top of the control panel as they took their nosedive into the Atlantic.

"You're a pilot?" Steve couldn't help asking stupidly as Agent Hill climbed into the cockpit, flipping a number of switches after she had pulled the hold shut behind them.

"I wear a lot of hats," she responded flippantly, the dash in front of her lighting up and the engines beneath them coming to life. "Er… I do a lot of different jobs for SHIELD," she explained, glancing back at them briefly, "you guys alright with the buckles?"

Steve took the seat next to Bucky, uncaring of how awkward it might have looked, considering the whole of the hold was empty, and quickly buckled his harness. "All set," he responded neutrally, before turning his attention to his hands clenched in his lap as the plane lifted into the sky. It took all of Steve's self control not to reach the couple of inches between them and touch Bucky… the physical reminder of where he was, of the fact that they were fine, would have been nice, but seemed to be overstepping their boundaries – and he hardly wanted to make Bucky uncomfortable, or for Hill to get the wrong impression of them.

A couple of hours later the sun was beginning to set, and Hill landed the plane near a small log cabin nestled in the valley of a set of rolling mountains. The artist in Steve couldn't help admiring the way that the pink of the sun peaked over the range of the hills, and all was reflected on the pond on front of the cabin. He hoped that there was paper somewhere inside – he knew that before their time there was up he would be itching to sketch the place.

"Captain Rogers, if you could grab the duffels from the hold, please?" Agent Hill requested, cutting off his train of thought as she made her way out of the pilot's chair. "We grabbed a few clothing necessities for the both of you to last through your stay."

Steve did as instructed, lifting both easily before following Hill and Bucky out of the plane and up the trail to the cabin. "It's… remote." He heard Bucky murmur, although it looked as though he was grudgingly impressed with the place's beauty as well.

Agent Hill unarmed a series of complicated locks before letting them inside, pointing Steve towards a couple of doors on the opposite side of the living room, "The bedrooms are through that way, if you want to pick your bunks, then I'll show you quickly how to use the computer and the microwave before I head out."

Steve nodded and made his way to the back, dumping each bag in a room without really looking… they could work out their preferences later. When he returned to the living room Bucky was already knelt next to the small screen in the corner, examining it closely as Agent Hill waited for it to 'boot up.'

"It's like a Turing machine, Steve," Bucky said, motioning with his arm for Steve to gather around, "Only capable of way more, apparently…"

Steve smiled a little as he stood by, watching as Agent Hill talked them through logging in, and showed them the search function on the internet. "It's essentially like having any library in the world at your fingertips – so if you get bored with the reading on the tablets, or want to look other information up, you can do it here." There was a notepad next to the desk, where she wrote down the _addresses_ for a couple of useful _sites_. "Just… be aware that anyone can put things online, so take what you read with a grain of salt."

After a few more minutes of instruction, then very quick tour around the kitchen in the corner, which had apparently been stocked to the gills for their arrival – "A whole basket of real fruit… Gosh, you guys didn't have to go so hog for us." – Agent Hill gave them the directions for the door, informed them that the grounds were protected and that, as a result, they couldn't go off of them (a fact that didn't sit particularly well with Steve or Bucky, given the look on the latter's face), then made her way back to the jet and left them to it.

They made their way back inside, building themselves frankly ridiculous sandwiches for dinner before picking through the fruit basket for dessert. Steve caught the longing way that Bucky had watched him peeling his orange as he crunched on his own apple and immediately split it in half, handing half of the peeled wedges over with a shrug and a "For tradition…" before Bucky could get angry about being coddled. Afterwards Steve went for a banana as well, although he spit out his first bite as soon as he'd taken it.

"Alright?" Bucky asked, frowning as he paused in eating a slice of orange.

"It's… not right," Steve shuddered, before handing it over for Bucky to try.

Bucky, for his part, laughed and shook his head, "Yeah… you're not exactly selling me on it, Rogers."

"Just try it, I wanna make sure I'm right."

Bucky gave him one more skeptical look before taking a tentative bite himself, only to scrunch his nose dramatically and spit it out as well. "It's bland and awful," he said disdainfully, popping another orange slice in his mouth to eliminate the taste. "It look like there's something wrong with it?"

If there was Steve couldn't tell, and they both decided to avoid the bananas for as long as possible, figuring there was plenty of other foods to hold them over in the meantime.

They picked bedrooms for the evening, but ended up spending the vast majority of it curled up on the uncomfortable couches in the living room, reading on their tablets. Neither was particularly tired, and it was nice to spend the time together without the stress of the hospital around them.

Steve was in the kitchen cooking oatmeal on their second morning, absently considering having Bucky look to see if there was some type of music on either the computer or tablets that they could listen to – he wasn't exactly bothered by the ambient sounds of the cabinet, the way that the odd electric ice box would occasionally rumble to life and buzz for a while or the noise of Bucky absently pecking away at the computer's keyboard, but he missed the familiarity of Glen Miller blaring in the living room while he cooked for the both of them, the way it always had been before everything went to hell. Before he could mention it, though, the slam of a door broke the quiet, and he dropped the wooden spoon on the floor in his haste to turn around and determine the source, half-afraid that they were under attack. No one was in the cabin, though, and the computer desk was empty… apparently it had been Bucky escaping to his bedroom in a rush, a thought that bothered Steve even more of an attack. He quietly made his way through the cabin, stopping outside of Bucky's door, where he noticed the wood had half-split. "Buck… you alright?" He asked stupidly, leaning close against the door jam.

There was no answer from inside the room, no sound at all, and if Steve hadn't fully believed Bucky's suspicions that they were under surveillance, he would have worried that Buck had left the building altogether. "Bucky?" He asked again, knocking gently against the wood this time, "Breakfast is almost done, if you want…"

"Leave me alone, Steve." Came the flat response from the other side of the door. Steve knew Bucky well enough to know what the thick quality of his voice meant… they'd both grown up with a pretty strong propensity towards crying, although Bucky had done a hell of a job at trying to suppress it as he'd grown older, Steve had still heard him enough times to recognize it when he heard it.

"Alright… I'll just… put yours in the icebox, whenever you want it, Buck." He responded, backing away and making his way back through the cabin. The entire incidence had left Steve without much appetite as well, but he had a bad feeling about skipping a meal given how recently it had been since they'd been thawed. He choked down a bowl of the oatmeal and odd bananas, if only to save the rest of the apples for Bucky when he finally decided to come out, then cleaned the kitchen restlessly, wishing that Bucky would come out of his room already. After spending an hour poking around on his tablet, Steve was even more antsy, and after glancing back at the still-closed bedroom doors, he made his way gingerly across the room, coming to a stop in front of the computer.

While he felt somewhat as if he were intruding on his friend's privacy, Steve hardly felt it right to go back and bother Bucky about whatever it was that had set him off… but he did really want to know. With one more guilty glance over his shoulder, he sat down in front of the computer, noticing that the internet browser was still open. He looked around the screen for a moment, noticing the 'back' button, and clicked it once, hoping that it would hold the key to what had set Bucky off so badly.

The headline on the page made his heart clench uncomfortably in his chest: _A TRUE BIONIC LIMB REMAINS FAR OUT OF REACH_. After a brief hesitation, Steve read quickly through the article, understanding as he went – for all that technology had improved, prosthetic arms were a sad mockery of the real thing; although they looked far better than the hooks he had remembered seeing troops sent home with in the forties, they didn't look to be functional at all. He finished the article, closing out of the browser completely and rubbing his face with his hand, unsure of what to do. While he wanted nothing more than to comfort Bucky, he couldn't think of a single thing to say that would be adequate – Lord knew that if Steve found himself in the same situation, he would probably be even more upset. So instead of going back to the bedrooms again, Steve decided to leave Bucky to himself, in the hope that he would be able to work through the information and find at least some comfort on his own.

Steve spent the rest of the afternoon picking listlessly through books on his tablet, pausing only to make soup for lunch. He'd started to walk towards Bucky's room three separate times, before deciding that if Bucky was hungry, he would be able to smell the food and come out on his own. Despite his growing unease with the quiet in the cabin, Steve spent most of the afternoon reading up on an American history book that he had found on the tablet. There was far more war and social and political unrest than he would have liked, but it was interesting to see all that had been accomplished while they had been on ice. He bookmarked the chapter on the space race, confident that the fact that men had been on the moon would be able to perk Bucky's mood up.

Eventually he realized that the sun had gone down, and made his way into the kitchen to make dinner – shocked to find chicken in the meat drawer. He couldn't remember _ever_ being able to afford chicken, especially not while he and Bucky had been fending for themselves. He'd needed to look around on the internet first to figure out how to even go about cooking chicken breasts, but ultimately decided to try to make a decent spread, hoping that it would entice Bucky to finally come out of his funk.

The chicken turned out a little dry, but otherwise the food was incredible… so packing it up a couple of hours later after having eaten alone was a huge disappointment. Steve struggled to focus on reading after that, his worry over Bucky growing as the time continued to pass in silence, and he finally decided to simply go to bed himself, pausing for a moment outside of Bucky's door to call "Goodnight, Buck," before retreating to his own room in defeat at the complete lack of response. Two days into their R&R, and he was doing a hell of a job of helping his friend.

Steve spent most of the night tossing in bed, alternating between being unable to sleep in his concern for Bucky and being woken up from the fitful sleep that he did get by nightmares of Bucky falling off of the train in the Alps, or freezing to death on the plane. When he finally woke the last time it was with surprise to see that the sun had already come up, and he dressed methodically before making his way to the kitchen to start a pot boiling for coffee.

He glanced out at the water as he was waiting for the water to heat, doing a double-take as he noticed a familiar brunette form sitting at the edge of the pond. Steve turned the burner off and immediately made his way out of the cabin, padding out barefoot to the water's edge before sinking down quietly on to sit on Bucky's right.

It didn't look as if Bucky had slept at all – his hair was uncharacteristically disarrayed, with a decent growth of stubble on his cheeks that Bucky never would have allowed, even before the military demanded they be well-groomed and clean shaven. Worse, though, was how dark the circles were under his eyes as he gazed out on the rising sun as it peaked out from behind the mountains.

"I just…" Bucky started, clearing his throat when he heard how raspy his own voice was from disuse, "I'm sorry for disappearing yesterday. I just… had trouble dealing with how disappointing the damned future is turning out to be."

"Yeah… considering Stark promised us flying cars by the Fifties," Steve joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Unfortunately, the teasing fell completely flat, with Bucky shaking his head silently, not even responding to it. "And I can't stop worrying about what the hell I'm gonna do now, Stevie… Christ, the only things I was good at as an adult were hauling crates and shooting people. Can't do either of those without two working arms."

"There's lots you could do, Bucky," Steve argued immediately, frowning at the defeatist talk. "You've always been smart, it took you no time at all to figure out the computer and the tablets… you could go back to school, learn something new…"

Bucky snorted at that, "Somehow I doubt any colleges are gonna jump to take me, especially considering all I have to show is a diploma from George Washington High from 1935."

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Bucky bowled ahead. "I imagine you're going to go back to the Army, wait until the world needs saving again?"

"If I'm called in I might go… haven't really thought about it, yet." Steve admitted uncomfortably.

Bucky shook his head, his gaze fixing on the water again. "The hell good am I if I can't watch your back, then?"

Steve clenched his fists, unable to help turning his frown on Bucky. "Is that what this is all about? You're afraid I'm going to go back to work and you aren't going to be able to pull me out of fights anymore?"

Bucky shrugged silently, although his lack of response was all of the answer Steve needed. "I'm pretty damned capable of taking care of myself now, Barnes. Hell… if it weren't for me…" his voice cracked embarrassingly, the realization hitting him as he said it, "you wouldn't be in this mess in the first place."

"You weren't in the war yet when Zola decided to start using me as a pincushion Steve, you can't take the blame for that one." Bucky responded sardonically, his face softening as he looked over and saw how upset Steve actually was. "And the day you pulled me off that table was the best day of my life, so don't you dare start feeling guilty about that – you saved my life."

Steve's responding laugh was more than a little watery. "Yeah, but… you should have gone home after that. Should have taken your honorable discharge and gotten the fuck out of that whole mess, and instead I talked you into wading in deeper."

"I was cleared for duty, Steve, I wouldn't have taken the discharge anyway, even if you hadn't asked."

"You were still going through the effects of the serum though, weren't you?" Steve asked, remembering how worn and thin Bucky had been for the first few months out of captivity. "You were changing and holding all of that inside, you didn't even tell me about it."

"If I'da told them everything they would have forced me out of fighting, and God knows what would've happened to your dumbass if I hadn't been there to have your six." Bucky responded, equally as heated. "And even if you'd made it to Schmidt, then you woulda had to take the plane down on your own, and you'da been frozen alone and stuck here with no one. If anything, you should be grateful I stuck around." He paused for a moment, squinting at the water as he rubbed at the stump of his left arm, his voice quiet as he continued. "Besides, it wouldn't've done me any better going back to Brooklyn on my own. Wouldn't've been worth surviving it all if you hadn't, too."

Steve's throat closed up so viciously that, had he not trusted Erskine and his serum completely, he would have worried that he was having an awful asthma attack. He swallowed a couple of times, staring out over the water (if he looked at Bucky, he might really lose it) before nodding tightly. "Alright…" he finally responded, clearing his throat before continuing. "Alright, then. Glad we feel the same about that, at least."

Bucky huffed a quiet chuckle, before throwing his arm around Steve's shoulders, "C'mere, Punk," he said fondly. Steve complied gladly, leaning into Bucky's side and rounding his own shoulders slightly, so that Bucky's arm could reach fully around him, surrounding him like Steve hadn't felt since the night Bucky had shipped out.

"We'll figure it out," he murmured quietly, knowing the platitude was hardly helpful, but feeling a little bit better for saying it.

"Yeah," Bucky responded after a beat, still staring out over the water. "Yeah, we always do, don't we?"

* * *

 **AN2:** A quick confession: I haven't watched Agents of Shield past season 1, so I apologize if the description of the Retreat is entirely off. I suppose we could pretend that Bucky and Steve were kept another similar location for the sake of having two bedrooms ;)

And a reference: the article that upset Bucky so much is available here: 2012/03/ff_prosthetics/  
I knew that prosthetics had come a really long way in the past couple of years, but actually reading the article really drove the point home.


	6. Chapter 6: May 2012

**AN:** Bucky and Steve get a chance to start settling in to modern-day New York, but Fury interrupts it all with a visit and a mission.

* * *

The rest of their time at the retreat was relatively uneventful – Bucky was still prone to sullen streaks, but they seemed to be shortening in duration… for the most part he was much like the old Bucky, if perhaps more quiet. They were able to find a music station online that would play music from their time, a fact which seemed to lighten the mood a little, especially when they took to the kitchen to attempt to prepare meals with the strange plethora of ingredients ; although they agreed that the entirety of the bunch of bananas were awful.

By the time Agent Hill had returned to take them back to New York, Steve had to admit that he did feel considerably less out-of-sorts than he had when he left.

He should have known better than to have expected it to last.

SHIELD put them up in an apartment in Manhattan, and when they stepped inside Steve could feel his expression tightening, much as he noticed Bucky's had beside him – it was obvious that someone had made an attempt to furnish the place as if it were out of the forties, and it made the entire ambiance more foreign than it would have been had they simply furnished it normally. The carpet, the walls, the upholstery… all were in different depressing shades of neutral colors, which only made the modern touches to the apartment all the more noticeable.

At least, Bucky pointed out as soon as the proud agent who had shown them around their apartment left, it was considerably bigger than any of the shoeboxes they had lived in before – and had both a computer and an enormous television, which looked like some space-aged painting hanging on the wall.

They spent the following week much the same as they had the last at the cabin, reading up on things that they had missed, watching 'classic' movies on the television, searching the internet for suggestions on what to do next. Steve had taken to keeping a moleskin full of ideas on him at all times, with Bucky all too happy to chime in with ideas.

He tried to arrange it so that they had daily trips out into the strange landscape around them… although it was rarely anything more exciting than the nearby bodega for groceries. Before the week was out, SHIELD had them come by for observation – biometrics testing and evaluation on everything from their physical fitness to their physiology to analyzing their DNA. Bucky seemed to have a strong suspicion that they were likely trying to suss out the differences between the serum that he had been given versus Steve's, and while he thought it seemed a bit paranoid, Steve could hardly argue the idea. Before they left, Steve had the bright idea to request any materials that SHIELD had on the Howling Comandoes and the SSR agents that they had worked with directly during the war. It turned out to be a bad idea.

Friday morning found them both flipping through SSR files in tight-lipped silence, looking over one dossier after another, all stamped with a large black "DECEASED" along the top. Although it was good to see that all of the other Howlies had lived what looked like long and fulfilling lives, the realization that it really was just the two of them left was a harrowing one. Stark being dead struck a blow as well, especially given how young he had been when he'd passed… for some reason a file on his son Anthony was slipped in to the pile – "Dead ringer," Bucky had whistled, the only words that either of them had spoken in hours – but the one that Steve spent the longest staring at was Peggy's.

It still hurt, remembering how everything had ended between the two of them, and there were few things he regretted as much as having never been able to keep their date as planned. He really had thought… he shook the idea off immediately, instead trying to stay positive on the fact that she looked to have had an extraordinary career, gotten married, had a couple of kids…

"Retired?" Bucky murmured, suddenly having materialized over Steve's shoulder to read the packet as well. "Peg's still alive, then? You should call her…"

Steve shook his head immediately, swallowing the lump in his throat before responding. "Nah, I don't want to… she doesn't need me interrupting her life, at this point. It's been an entire lifetime for her, hardly seems fair for me to jump back into it now."

"You and I both know she wouldn't mind," Bucky scoffed, moving back to where he had been sitting in front of the laptop, closing the last of the stack of files he'd had for himself and pushing them away to the corner of his desk. "And if she finds out from someone else that you're still alive, she's liable to kick your ass, Rogers."

A surprise bubble of laughter came out of Steve's mouth at that, imagining an aged Peggy, hair still in waves and lipstick as red as ever, knocking him out the same as she had Hodge on the first day at Camp Lehigh. Bucky looked smug as he leaned back in his chair, apparently thinking that he had solved the problem of Steve's funk. Unfortunately, the aura of grief continued to hang over them for the rest of the afternoon, so that by the time the evening rolled around Steve was crawling out of his skin.

He stole the laptop from Bucky for a moment after dinner, making a couple of searches before announcing, "Ya know Goldie's is still in business, and apparently open 24 hours…"

Bucky looked up lazily from his tablet, although Steve could tell that he was acting to cover something. Perhaps nostalgia over the gym they had trained at so many years ago… "Just… I need to get out and move for a bit. Want to see if we can make it to Brooklyn before their office closes, get ourselves a couple of passes?" While Bucky chewed his lip, Steve pressed on. "They might even give us a deal, especially if they still have us on the books from back in the day…"

Bucky snorted at that, "They won't have books from 1942, Steve – I don't think anyone does outside of museums, anymore."

"Worth a shot." Steve responded flippantly, already standing and collecting his wallet to go.

"I dunno," Bucky said quietly, "I'm not exactly going to be an ace sparring partner… my moves are pretty predictable, nowadays."

Steve shrugged at that, still uncomfortable with how to talk about Bucky's injury. "We can work around that – to hear the docs at SHIELD tell it you can still punch damn near as hard as me… that's better than any other chump there will be able to say."

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, before pausing for a minute, clearly reconsidering. After a few seconds his jaw set firmly before he gave a tight nod, apparently stealing himself for a decision he didn't exactly like. "Alright… alright, I'll come with. But if you try to go easy on me, I'll beat your ass."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Buck," Steve answered with a satisfied smile. "Let's go get a bag around and get over there…"

They packed and changed quickly, Steve opting for some of the clothes that he had gotten himself – a nicer pair of pleated trousers and a plaid collared shirt, while Bucky wore one of the t-shirts SHIELD had given them and a pair of jeans, awkwardly shrugging into the black leather jacket he had bought for himself and self-consciously fixing his hair as he waited by the door for Steve.

Thankfully the subway to Brooklyn was relatively empty, and they were both able to grab a seat, Bucky seated so that his left side was to the window of the train, doing his best to make the amputation as unnoticeable as possible. Steve sat next to him, watching like a hawk for anyone who would even consider staring and making Bucky anymore uncomfortable. Of course, that was when a voice spoke up from behind them.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" The young man asked, pointing at Bucky's arm when they both turned and looked at him in confusion. "You served, right?"

"I… yeah," Bucky responded quietly, his eyebrows still pinched in confusion at the original question.

The man waited for a few moments, before sitting back sheepishly. "Uh… thanks for your service. Sorry to bug you."

Steve touched Bucky's hand gently as soon as he had checked that they weren't being watched, raising his eyebrows slightly in a silent check that his friend was alright. Bucky's jaw simply tightened, and after a few seconds he gave a tight nod – obviously it wasn't entirely truthful, but apparently he wasn't bothered enough for them to need to get off of the train or go home.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, and they were able to make it to Goldie's just before the manager of the gym locked up. Although Bucky was right in guessing that they wouldn't still have the books available, the man asked if Steve was related to Captain America, thinking him a dead-ringer for the hero, which made Bucky snicker quietly into his hand. In the end, they'd gotten a discount just for that (Steve may or may not have lied through his teeth).

They changed in the locker rooms downstairs, Steve locking their bag up with the key he'd been provided with the membership and trying not to be too bothered by the fact that Bucky had felt the need to change into his gear in one of the bathroom stalls. He still struggled with dressing himself, but it meant that by the time they finally made their way back upstairs, the gym had emptied completely – a blessing in disguise, really, as he doubted that Bucky would have been as willing to actually go about sparring had they had an audience.

They started out slow, circling the ring and feeling each other out, telegraphing their jabs as they moved around each other… it would have been easy to have pretended that it was 1942 again, if one could ignore the enormous physical changes they'd both gone through. It was a completely different story once they began sparring in earnest, though – even with his missing arm, Bucky was incredibly fast and powerful, his balance clearly having righted itself in the couple of weeks since his surgery. Steve realized as they paused for a moment, that he had never had a chance to pay attention to Bucky during battle when they had been in the heat of it with HYDRA… if he had, he had to assume that he would have recognized his friend's enhancements long before the ice had happened.

During their next round, Steve blocked a hook from Bucky, shifting to throw a jab at Bucky's torso when Bucky socked him clean in the mouth, before stepping back with his eyes wide and guilty. "Shit… fuck, Steve, are you alright?" He asked, his voice full of regret as he stepped back up to examine Steve's face, "I was thinking I wanted to jab with the left, which obviously wasn't gonna happen, but apparently the message got crossed…"

Steve shook his head, wiping the blood from his teeth with a smile. "It's alright, Buck, it's sparring… it happens." He readied his fists again to continue, but Bucky's shoulders drooped and he made his way towards the corner of the ring.

"Actually, I think I've had enough for one day, pal…" Bucky responded shortly, pulling the tie of his glove loose with his teeth before placing it between his knees and pulling his hand free.

Steve watched him go regretfully, wishing that they hadn't stopped – he'd been enjoying the distraction, and honestly thought that Bucky had as well. "Tell you what… I wanted to work the bag for a little while anyway, you alright sticking around for a few more?"

Bucky shrugged noncommittally, waiting until Steve had moved to one of the heavy bags before jumping back into the ring himself, working on footwork and shadow boxing as Steve simply focused on beating the hell out of the weighted canvas.

As he continued throwing punches, the noise of Bucky's workout was drowned out, replaced entirely by flashbacks of memories… from unrecognizable battlefields, to the agonizing moments on the train, to putting the plane down, to one weird and hazy scene of scientists talking over them as they tried to thaw the ice around them… the next thing he knew, the heavy bag was flying across the gym, hitting the far wall with a sad thud as sand spilled out of the rip he'd left in it. Steve's chest heaved for a moment, before he moved to grab another bag, moving it into position as he glanced to where Bucky looked to be just as lost in the rapid one-armed pushups that he was doing on the mat.

Steve readied his fists again, preparing to start from the top when he heard the main door to the gym open and close. A moment later, a familiar voice sounded through the dark of the lobby, "Trouble sleeping?"

Steve turned to see Nick Fury walking in, but it was Bucky who responded from his place near the ring. "We've been asleep for seventy years, sir… think we've got some on credit."

"Then you should be out celebrating, seeing the world," Fury responded placidly, stepping further into the room.

"You here with a mission, sir?" Steve interrupted, already beginning to unwrap his knuckles. He wasn't in the mood to play games with Fury, and really didn't want to have this conversation in front of Bucky in the first place. "Trying to get me back into the world?"

"I'm trying to save it," Fury responded shortly, cutting to business as he handed a file folder to Steve.

Behind him, Steve heard Bucky hop down from the ring, moving close enough that he was looking over his shoulder as Steve took a seat on the bench next to him, opening the file to find a photo of the cube he'd last seen open a portal into space which Johann Schmidt disappeared into. "Hydra's secret weapon," he muttered, angling the folder so that Bucky could see it as well.

"Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you," Fury continued, standing at parade rest as Steve flipped through the rest of the file quickly. "He thought what we think – that the Tesseract could be the key to unlocking unlimited sustainable energy. That's something the world sorely needs."

"And I'm guessing someone stole it?" Bucky chimed in, a tone of annoyance in his voice as he shook his head when Steve offered the packet for him to peruse… belatedly, he realized how difficult it would be to look through the loose leaf paper with a single hand.

"He's called Loki," Fury responded, seemingly unbothered by Bucky's attitude. "He's… not from around here. There's a lot we'll have to bring you up to speed on if you're in. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know."

"At this point, I doubt anything would surprise me," Steve shot back flippantly, rising from the bench and handing the folder to Fury instead. He glanced back to Bucky, before nodding towards the stairs to the locker rooms, figuring they both had had enough for one night.

"Ten bucks says you're wrong," Fury retorted before they could begin walking away.

The way Bucky's fist clenched didn't go unnoticed by Steve… he hated it, but he already knew that he was likely to take the mission. He could hardly let the Tesseract fall into the wrong hands, not having seen first-hand what it could do, but he had hoped there would have been more time before he jumped back into action, so that there would at least be some option for Bucky in the meantime…

"There's a debriefing packet waiting for the both of you back at your apartment," Fury added before they could leave, raising an eyebrow as Bucky looked back at him in obvious surprise.

"I appreciate the sentiment, sir, but I don't really see where I fit in the mission plan…" Bucky muttered.

"We lost our sniper in the attack in New Mexico, Sergeant, and according to SSR records you were one of the best snipers in the European theatre – SHIELD will definitely have use for you."

"Dunno if it escaped your notice," Bucky responded sardonically, shrugging his left shoulder so that the stump of his arm waived under his sleeve, "but I lost my trigger finger."

Fury smiled at that, an honest look of amusement that almost made Steve uncomfortable, it seemed so out of place. "We already took that into consideration, and I think we've come up with an adequate solution. Look the packet over, let me know if you're in. Assuming you are, I'll have someone swing by tomorrow at 0800 to get you," he pointed to Bucky, "that trigger finger."

It was all Steve could do to turn and walk towards the locker rooms without raging at Fury… the bastard had done exactly what he had needed to do to get them both to join in – Steve wouldn't leave the fate of the world to some lunatic who had stolen the Tesseract, while Bucky would do anything to watch Steve's back and get a working arm so that he could do it effectively. And there was no way that Steve could argue against the idea of Bucky going back into action without being the bad guy, even though he wanted nothing more than to leave him home and safe in New York. Even with a gun and the serum, he failed to see how Buck would be able to defend himself in hand-to-hand combat with some flimsy prosthetic…

"There anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?" Fury asked Steve's back.

"You should have left it in the water," he replied tightly, already kicking the door to the locker rooms open and making his way down the stairs without waiting to hear if Bucky was following.

* * *

 **AN2:** GUESS WHAT COMES NEXT!


	7. Chapter 7 : Avengers Assemble, Pt I

**AN:** Steve and Bucky take Fury's mission, joining SHIELD and their team of freaks. Bucky gets an arm, as well as a couple of reasons to lighten up on his opinion of the future. It's all going well, until they meet Loki.

* * *

Steve hadn't had the heart to put up much of an argument about Bucky joining him on the mission, especially since he could hardly tell his friend to turn down a working arm, knowing how much his handicap had been weighing on his mind, so they had accepted the assignment before they had even finished the debriefing packet. It didn't stop them from pouring over the information inside, sitting across the kitchen table from each other with a pot of coffee and Bucky's laptop between the stacks of dossiers. Of particular interest had been the file on one Dr. Robert Banner, who had apparently been working on a new form of Project Rebirth which had interacted with the resultant Gamma Radiation he sustained with disastrous results. Bucky frowned at the picture of the enormous green monster, simultaneously playing a video of the same creature tearing Harlem apart on the computer, before shaking his head and pushing the file back to Steve with a muttered, "Guess we really could have had it worse…"

Steve sighed as he tucked Banner's dossier back into the packet, trying his best to shake off the vague sense of guilt that he felt, knowing that someone had suffered so severely because the US government had wanted to replicate the results they'd gotten from his own experimental procedures. He wondered if Erskine had left any sorts of reasonable notes behind to be followed, if he'd left any warnings about the creation of the Red Skull and why the serum should never be recreated, regardless of how well it had worked out for Steve.

"Did they zap you with the same stuff, then? Gamma rays?" Bucky asked tightly, interrupting Steve's rapidly spiraling thoughts, "That where he got such a harebrained idea in the first place?"

Steve swallowed, picking up a file on a red-headed dame called the Black Widow and staring at it without seeing. "They used Vita rays on me, Stark built a tank, put me in it… the energy made the serum work instantaneously, so I could… grow… within a few seconds."

"So you let them irradiate you, having no idea what it would do to humans, _after_ they pumped you full of the same stuff that made Schmidt into a monster?" Bucky asked incredulously, his mouth tight at the corners.

"I trusted Erskine," Steve shot back, before realizing that this was the first time he had ever talked to Bucky in earnest about his procedure. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how Bucky's was different, but he kept the question to himself, knowing well enough that it wasn't a topic worth broaching at the moment. Judging by his reaction, and the fact that Zola's lab hadn't had the necessary equipment in it, Steve could tell that Bucky hadn't had the benefit of any type of radiation to speed his serum's activation… he couldn't imagine the pain that Bucky must have been dealing with, changing so slowly throughout the course of the war, with no one else knowing…

"Think I'm going to turn in," Steve said abruptly, rising from his chair and quickly making his way towards his bedroom, "I'll see you in the morning." He tried to force himself to sleep but it was a lost cause, especially since Bucky's nervous energy was practically palpable throughout the entire apartment.

Their doorbell rang at exactly 0800, and a new agent named Coulson followed Bucky into the apartment, two SHIELD technologists and a large crate in tow. Steve did his best to give them space, but didn't feel comfortable with the idea of leaving Bucky completely alone with the strangers, hovering around the living room as they outfitted him with an awkward, bulky metal prosthetic. "The weight might take some getting used to," one of the techs explained apologetically as he attached the straps around Bucky's opposite shoulder and chest, "but according to the tests we ran this week, it shouldn't be so much that it's a real burden for you…"

"It's fine," Bucky grunted as he rose from the couch, staring down in wonder at the metal hand that hung limply at his side before asking, "How do I control it?"

The second tech handed over what looked to be a tiny headset, quickly indicating that Bucky should hook it behind his right ear then activating the device once it was in place. "This will be able to pick up waves from your motor cortex… the part of your brain that controls movement… and is specifically programmed to the portion that controls the arm…"

"What happens if it gets knocked off my head?" Bucky asked with a frown, finally taking his eyes off of the hand.

"Uh…" the tech stuttered, glancing at his colleague with a frown.

"Make sure it doesn't get knocked off," the other responded, making one final adjustment to the straps before stepping away from Bucky. "Give it a try."

Bucky glanced across the room at Steve, giving him a decidedly unimpressed look, before turning his concentration to the arm again. After a couple of seconds of him frowning down at it, the forearm jerked to life, bending at the elbow then extending again, before repeating the motion and simultaneously rotating the wrist. Each of the metal fingers tapped briefly against the thumb in turn, before curling into a fist. Finally, the elbow tucked in against his side and the index finger flexed and extended multiple times, reminding Steve all too well of the times that he'd caught a glance of Bucky at action from his sniper nests. Bucky let the arm drop to his side again, a small smile beginning to fight its way onto his face. "It'll do," he said gruffly, before nodding at each of the techs in turn, "Thank you."

Coulson appeared in the room as soon as Bucky had dismissed the techs, swanning out of the corner from where he had been paying a little more attention to the framed photos than Steve was entirely comfortable with. "If that's all set then, gentlemen, we have a flight to catch to meet up with Director Fury and the others…"

Bucky pulled a plain white t-shirt on over his head, the left arm delayed a moment behind his right, so that there was a slight hitch as he dressed, but with considerably more ease than he had shown while dressing in the hospital – the last time he had allowed Steve to see him put clothes on. When finished, he smoothed his hair down and rolled his shoulders, before glancing at Steve with a nod. "Lead the way, Agent," Steve responded, pausing for just a moment at the door to grab his brown leather bomber jacket and hand over Bucky's black one, then locking up behind them and following Coulson's team out onto the street.

The ride to the airport was short and quiet, with Steve using the time to study the city further and Bucky surreptitiously continuing to articulate the joints of his new prosthesis. Coulson had grabbed the debriefing packet before leaving the apartment, asking if they would like to look through it one final time before they reached their final destination, and Steve took it only to be polite – the serum had improved his memory such that he already had the entirety of it memorized, and Bucky's complete lack of interest in the file made Steve suspect that he had the same abilities. Once this was all over, Steve thought they might need to eventually sit down and compare just what it was that they each were capable of, and workout how their respective serums set them apart from one another.

They were taken to what looked like a private airfield just outside of the city, where a familiar quinjet waited for them on the otherwise empty runway, the flight team already in the cockpit. Coulson lead both Bucky and Steve into the plane, taking a seat on the bench opposite Steve while he and Bucky sat side by side in the hold, strapping in to their seatbelts with slightly less anxiety than the first time that they had been passengers. The jet took off almost immediately, flying away from New York City so quickly that Steve wondered if he shouldn't have asked about their destination before departure. His concerns were interrupted by Coulson standing over him, apparently having moved around the jet while Steve's mind had been wandering.

"I just wanted to say…" Coulson began, glancing nervously at Bucky before turning his smile fully on Steve, "it's an honor to get to meet you both, officially. I already sort of met you… I mean, I watched you. While you were sleeping."

Bucky snorted quietly in the awkward silence that followed, and Steve wasn't able to keep his face entirely straight as he glanced sidelong at him, raising his eyebrows minutely as they made eye contact. Buck bit his lip viciously, clearly fighting off a laugh, his manners still intact enough to not poke fun at the man intentionally, at least to his face. Steve couldn't take it anymore – he unfastened his seatbelt, pushing out of the chair and moving so that he stood next to Coulson, moving Bucky completely out of his sight while he could still control his own laughter.

"I mean…" Coulson continued, a pained expression on his face as he tried to recover, "I mean I was present, while you were unconscious. From the… ice. You know, Captain, it's really, it's just… it's a huge honor, to have you on board."

"Well… I hope I'm the right man for the job," Steve responded uncomfortably, leaning against the doorway to the cockpit and looking through the windshield, attempting to work out their location and where they might be heading to. Bucky, he could sense, had remained on the bench in the hold, apparently content to watch the interaction (instead of saving Steve from the painfully awkward interaction, the jerk).

"Oh, you are," Coulson responded immediately, as good as tripping over his insistence, "Absolutely. Uh… we made some modifications to the uniform, to both of yours," he added, his head barely turning towards Bucky as an amused "Can't wait," floated up from the hold, "I had a little input on the design…"

"The uniform?" Steve asked, unable to help interrupting in his confusion, "Aren't the stars and stripes a little… old-fashioned?" He'd fully expected SHIELD to just throw tactical gear at the both of them… it wasn't as if this was a war that needed a mantle to rally troops behind in the first place.

"Everything that's happening? The things that are about to come to light? People just might need a little old-fashioned." Coulson responded, his voice with a dreamy quality that Steve hated.

"Well… as long as you didn't take the red tights from the comics, I'm in," Bucky chimed in, looking up at the both of them with a shit-eating smirk on his dumb face. Steve turned his face away as the guffaw that he had been holding back finally burst loose, missing whatever it was that Coulson responded with.

Just for that, he hoped that Bucky was stuck in something equally ridiculous.

The rest of the flight was uneventful, and before long they were landing on what looked to be an enormous aircraft carrier, the jet settling down among other similar crafts and innumerable fighters. Steve stepped out of the quinjet first, glad to notice that Bucky was close behind him. A small, striking woman with bright red hair approached them immediately, and Steve recognized her as Agent Romanoff from their debriefing packet even before Coulson had the chance to introduce them.

"Hi," Romanoff responded to Steve and Bucky's greeting, before turning her attention to Coulson. "They need you on the bridge, they're starting the face-trace."

Coulson nodded importantly before leaving for the nearest entryway to the ship. If not for the shrewd way that Romanoff continued to study the both of them, Steve might have pulled a joke about losing their fan-club, instead he just huffed a relieved sigh, knowing that Bucky would pick up on the meaning behind it.

"It was quite the buzz around here, finding you two in the ice," Romanoff said smoothly, turning and leading the way towards another quinjet on the deck. "I thought Coulson was gonna swoon," she added with a smirk, which only grew when Bucky snorted in amusement – Steve continued to do his best to suppress his own amused smile, but could feel himself failing even as he tried.

"Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?" Romanoff added, the amusement plain on her face now.

"Trading cards?" Bucky asked gleefully before Steve could respond.

"They're vintage… he's very proud." Romanoff chuckled. "And I'm sure he's got Howling Commandoes pack somewhere as well… don't think you're off the hook, Barnes."

Steve shook his head – he could sense that Romanoff was the type of dame who would destroy him in any type of verbal sparring, so he figured he would save himself the embarrassment, especially while Bucky was in the mix to egg her on. Further along the deck, he noticed a middle aged man in an ill-fitting suit, moving around the pilots scurrying on the deck as if he was trying to make himself smaller in the chaos.

"Doctor Banner!" He called out instinctively, already feeling drawn to the man… Steve knew all too well what it felt like to feel out of place in his body, and the residual guilt from the night before was still too fresh in his mind to ignore the man.

Banner turned in surprise, a quick look of recognition passing over his face as he looked at Steve, then crossed the deck to them with his hand extended. "Uh, yeah… hi." He said awkwardly, shaking Steve's hand, then hesitating before taking Bucky's as well. "They told me you'd be coming," he added, glancing back at Steve and looking him over awkwardly.

"Word is you can find the cube," Steve responded pleasantly, trying his best not to think about the serums that set the three of them apart to everyone else in the world.

Banner clasped his hands together, looking around the deck anxiously with a forced smile before asking, "Is that the only word on me?"

"It's the only one that matters," Bucky answered fervently, his eyes wide and earnest in a way that made Steve's stomach flop awkwardly for a moment.

Banner looked surprised for a moment, but then his discomfort with the conversation seemed to melt away, his hands falling back to his side as he looked around the deck again. "It must be strange for the two of you… all of this."

Steve watched as a group of pilots in PT uniforms marched along the deck in front of them, smiling slightly as he remembered his time in boot camp. "Well, this is actually kind of familiar."

"Gentlemen," Romanoff interrupted, stepping closer and addressing all three of them, "you might want to take a step inside in a minute… it's gonna get a little hard to breathe."

A nearby tannoy began to instruct the crew to secure the deck, sirens going off as the churning sound of engines coming to life underneath the ship filled the air.

"Is this a submarine?" Steve asked, not bothering to hide his surprise as he made his way towards the edge of the ship.

"Really?" He heard Banner chuckle behind him, "They want _me_ in a submerged, pressurized, metal container?"

Banner stepped up next to Steve on his left, and a moment later Bucky was stood on his right, peering into the water as an enormous turbine emerged from the side of the ship, quickly gaining enough speed that they were rising out of the water. "It's airborne…" Bucky murmured next to him.

"Oh, no… this is much worse." Banner added sardonically, before they finally took Romanoff's advice and followed her towards the nearest doorway into the ship.

They made their way to the flight deck, finding both Agent Hill and Director Fury commanding the huge team of SHIELD agents responsible for piloting the ship. The bridge was impressive, to say the least… Steve couldn't help smiling slightly at the awestruck look no Bucky's face as he wandered towards the impressive bank of computers in the middle of the room, while Steve's focus remained on the huge bay of windows surrounding them, giving a view of the water that they were rapidly accelerating away from. Remembering their conversation, Steve pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, finding a ten dollar bill and handing it wordlessly to Fury before staring around openly, not bothering to hide how impressed he was with the entire outfit, listening with half an ear as Fury, Banner and Coulson began discussing their plan for locating the Tesseract. In the meantime, Steve sidled up next to Bucky, murmuring quietly, "Still disappointed with the future?"

Bucky finally tore his eyes away from the control panels, giving Steve a small, familiar smirk. "This was more what I had in mind, I guess. Still has a ways to go to impress me, though."

They stayed on the command deck, Bucky continuing to watch the engineers with naked interest as they went about their tasks in maintaining the ship, Steve following along, occasionally commenting on things that he observed but otherwise just enjoying seeing his friend's enthusiasm – he wasn't sure that he'd seen Bucky this excited about anything since Stark's World Fair in 43. Unfortunately, Coulson was able to corner them eventually, asking for autographs as Romanoff had warned that he might, then awkwardly bragging about his collectables, occasionally adding comments about items of Bucky's as well.

A nearby cluster of computers began trilling, thankfully interrupting Coulson's bumbling (and Steve's equally awkward encouragement of it, not wanting to hurt the man's feelings). The call went out on the deck that they had spotted Loki in Germany, and Fury immediately called out for Steve and Bucky, instructing them to suit up and be ready to depart for his location ASAP.

Bucky and Steve followed Coulson through the winding halls of the helicarrier, finally coming to a small weapons armory that Coulson unlocked with his ID badge. The gravity of the situation was apparent when Bucky made no comment at all over the absurdity that met them – in a raised, lighted locker hung a ridiculously bright, flimsy version of Steve's battle uniform. He stepped forward, grabbing the suit and doing his best to not cringe at the bright red combat boots that came with it, shooting a warning look in Bucky's direction as he retrieved a familiar blue coat from the locker beside his. "I'll just… leave the two of you to change…" Coulson said reverently, pausing for a few awkward moments at the door before turning and closing it behind him.

Bucky snorted outright as the door finally closed, setting his coat aside and examining the black tactical pants, t-shirt and combat boots tucked behind it for just a moment before shrugging out of his leather jacket. "When he said modifications, I didn't think he meant he was going to steal the designs from the comics…"

"Don't even start," Steve sighed, taking his own jacket off as he steeled himself, then swallowing his pride and changing out of his street clothes completely.

Bucky actually shut up, struggling a bit as his t-shirt got caught on the straps of his prosthetic, then turned to face the wall as he stepped out of his jeans and began himself. Steve was in the middle of wriggling his way into the suit when Bucky spoke up again, his amusement obvious, "Just give me a holler if you need a hand getting it on…"

"You are _the biggest_ jerk, I fuckin' swear…" Steve muttered, although he couldn't help smiling as Bucky laughed in earnest for the first time in recent memory.

The flight to Stuttgart was short but tense, with Agent Romanoff piloting the quinjet while Steve and Bucky rode in the hold. Bucky spent much of the flight toying with an unloaded pistol and quietly lamenting the fact that he hadn't had the opportunity to test firing a rifle with his new prosthesis before being sent on a mission. Steve wanted to instruct him to stay on the jet with Romanoff, figuring that it might be safer for Bucky anyway, given the unpredictability of his new arm, but he knew it would only result in a fight… Bucky was no more likely to sit a fight out than Steve was, even if it was an order.

Shortly before they entered German airspace Bucky growled in frustration, pulling a knife out of his boot and peeling his coat off, then roughly hacking the left sleeve off. Steve frowned as he watched, before raising his eyebrows questioningly when Bucky had finished his task and glanced over at him guiltily. "The material keeps catching on the bolts in the elbow joint," he muttered, before pulling the mutilated garment back on. "It's already hard enough to move the damned thing around, I don't need it restricted by some attempt to make me look normal…"

Steve wanted to argue Bucky's implication, to point out that if he was still struggling with controlling the arm, he had no business going to battle with someone who had the power of the cube behind him, but before he could speak up Romanoff called out from the front, indicating that they were already over their destination. After pressing a couple of buttons and indicating that the jet was in stealth mode, she took the plane down, until they were hovering over a crowd huddled together in a plaza.

Steve saw Loki advancing on an old man in the crowd, his scepter glowing ominously as he pointed it in his direction, and Steve acted on instinct, knowing there was no time to wait for a parachute, or for Romanoff to land the plane for him to get in the mix. He punched the button for the airlock in the rear of the plane, knowing that the drop wouldn't be too far, and hopped out into the night – landing just in time for the all-too-familiar blast of blue light to hit the shield and reflect back so that it blasted Loki to the ground. "Ya know," Steve announced, standing from his crouch and advancing on Loki, "the last time I was in Germany, and saw a man standing above everybody else, we ended up disagreeing."

"The soldier," Loki chuckled, leaning on his scepter as he used it to rise from the ground, "did you bring your crippled sidekick along, as well? It should be great fun to put down a pair of men out of time…"

Bucky, apparently called out by the insult, stepped out of the shadows he'd dropped into, his arm whirring ominously as he raised his automatic gun to point at where Loki stood. "We aren't the ones out of time," he growled, as the quinjet flickered back into view and came to a stop in the air above him, adding its own considerable firepower to the threat.

Loki scowled, charging the scepter again and firing a blast towards the plane, giving Steve just enough time to fling the shield in his direction, striking him on the chest in his distraction. He launched himself forward the moment that he heard the shield make contact, throwing a punch as he caught the shield on the rebound. From the corner of his eye, he saw Bucky circling the two of them, keeping between the scepter and the civilians, his gun trained on Loki the entire time. Unfortunately, the Asgardian was considerably stronger than he looked, and after allowing Steve a few licks Loki began to fight back in earnest, knocking him down with the scepter even as Steve did his best to dodge the blows. He went into a roll, coming back to his feet in time to see Bucky grimace and take aim.

"Bucky, DON'T FIRE!" Steve shouted, tossing the shield with all of his strength to disarm – or at least distract – Loki. "He can teleport… or something like it. There's too many civilians to risk."

Bucky lowered the gun, and Steve launched himself at Loki again, fighting as best as he could with his fists, his shield too far out of reach to attempt to grab up again. After a few moments of fighting, in which it felt like Steve was wearing himself out more than he was actually doing damage to Loki, Bucky joined the fray as well – fighting as best as he could with his right arm, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he fought.

Loki spun wildly, knocking Bucky back with a blast from the scepter then turning back in on Steve again, striking him down with a solid blow to the sternum then looming over him ominously. "Kneel," Loki hissed, the butt of his staff pressing into the base of Steve's skull.

Almost instantaneously, Steve saw Bucky's boots in his periphery, and heard the unmistakable sound of a trigger being cocked. "You're getting one warning out of courtesy, then I have no problem blowing your brains out on the cobblestones." Bucky warned harshly, before growling, "Stand. Down."

Loki laughed darkly, applying even more force to the staff, so that Steve's spine began to bend despite his best attempts to fight it. "You think your piddly Midgardian weapons can intimidate me, Sergeant?"

If Bucky had an answer, it was suddenly drowned out by a blast of awful music coming from the quinjet, and for a moment they all turned towards it in confusion, Steve freed from Loki's threat. An object came streaking through the sky, rapidly growing larger, before a blast of light knocked Loki away from both Steve and Bucky, flinging his prone figure back onto the steps of the museum as a red and gold robot landed with a clang in the middle of the fray.

"Make your move, Reindeer games," a tinny voice came from inside the suit, the propulsor in his hand lighting up and a gun suddenly appearing out of his shoulder to join Bucky's in its target on Loki. Steve couldn't help feeling wildly inadequate as he snatched up the shield and stood beside them, just in time for Loki to raise his arms in surrender, his armor disappearing into thin air. "Good move," Stark responded airily.

"Mr. Stark," Steve huffed, not taking his eyes off of Loki's figure as he glared down at their target.

"Captain… Sergeant." Stark responded lazily, remaining in full armor with his arsenal locked on Loki until Agent Romanoff had landed the jet and brought them the necessary restraints to take the alien in with.


	8. Chapter 8: Avengers Assemble, Pt II

**AN:** The mission to retrieve the cube goes from bad, to worse, to FUBAR.

((I really hope that this chapter works... I hadn't planned on writing from Bucky's POV - hadn't planned on changing POVs at all until another character came in much later in the story - but I felt like hearing Bucky's side added to this chapter, especially in explaining the parts that are different from the movie. Questions/comments/concerns/opinions on the decision would be greatly, greatly appreciated, especially for the sake of decision-making going forward.))

* * *

Bucky stood beside Steve and Stark in the doorway to the quinjet's cockpit as they made their way back to the helicarier, unwilling to stow his rifle just yet. The Asgardian, for his part, sat placidly in the hold, occasionally smirking at Bucky, his gaze focused on the metal arm as Bucky kept watch over him.

"I don't like it," he heard Steve mutter, feeling the sentiment all too well himself.

"What, Rock of Ages giving up so easily?" Stark responded smartly.

Bucky bristled at the tone – despite the limited interaction they'd had so far, Stark was already rubbing him the wrong way, gloating as if he hadn't noticed the way that Steve had been thrown around during their fight. "It wasn't exactly easy," he muttered tightly, glancing away from their prisoner for just long enough to shoot Stark a look over his shoulder.

"Buck's right," Steve murmured, "this guy packs a wallop."

"Still, you're both pretty spry for old folks." Stark said with a smirk. "What's your secret? Pilates?"

Bucky turned at that, so that he could fully face Stark, glad to see that Steve's face looked just as confused as he was sure his own did.

"It's like calisthenics," Stark continued to ramble, the smugness practically rolling off of him in waves. "You two might have missed a couple things, doing time as Capsicles."

"Fury didn't tell us he was calling you in," Steve interrupted evenly, completely ignoring the rant and phrasing the question as to what the hell Stark was doing on the mission in the first place much more diplomatically than Bucky had been preparing to.

"Yeah, there's a lot of things Fury doesn't tell you." Stark answered ominously, dodging the question while making Bucky's lingering uneasiness surrounding the whole damned organization even worse.

A flash of lightning suddenly flashed through the cockpit, the following clap of thunder loud and close enough that it drowned out any further questioning that either of the soldiers might have had. Bucky instinctively looked back into the cockpit, remembering the rumors that Loki could apparently perform magic and knowing all too well what the Tesseract was capable of, half-afraid that it might be warping the weather around the jet (or creating a damned portal like he still had nightmares of Schmidt disappearing through). Loki remained seated and restrained in the spot they had left them, though, looking around at the windows of the jet as if he was even more startled by the weather than the rest of them had been. "What's the matter," Bucky sneered, glad to have the upper-hand on the bastard for a change, "scared of a little lightning?"

"I'm not overly fond of what follows." Loki drawled, craning his neck again as something seemed to land on the roof of the jet with a loud thud.

The alarm system in front of Romanoff began sounding again, both her and her copilot pushing a number of buttons, apparently trying to work out what had hit them as Stark grabbed up the helmet to his suit and Steve readied his shield again. A moment later the hatch to the jet was pulled open, and… although Bucky wouldn't have believed it possible had he not seen it… an enormous blonde man wearing armor and a red cape of all things, flew into the hold.

"Is he a friendly?" Bucky shouted, his rifle trained on their visitor as he yanked Loki effortlessly out of his seat, as if he were a ragdoll.

"Doesn't matter, if he frees Loki or kills him, the Tesseract is lost." Stark replied, pushing past both Steve and Bucky as blondie turned back to the hatch, swinging a huge, old-fashioned hammer and dragging Loki out with him into the night.

"Stark, we need a plan!" Steve yelled, grabbing the arm of the suit as Stark made his way across the hold of the jet.

"I have a plan…" Stark's tinny voice responded from inside of his helmet as he shook off Steve's grip and made to jump as well, "attack."

"Guy's a hell of a teammate, I can see why Fury recruited him," Bucky said with a scoff, stowing his rifle and moving to where Steve had already retrieved a parachute from beneath the seats in the hold, shrugging it on to go after the others.

"I'd sit this one out Cap," Romanoff warned from the cockpit, as Bucky grabbed up a parachute of his own, knowing Steve well enough to predict his response.

"I don't see how I can," Steve said shortly, before glancing at Bucky, his eyes softening for just a moment before he continued in a lower voice. "But… Bucky, you stay here with the jet."

"And let you take on a couple of gods with no one but Stark as back-up? I don't think so, punk…"

"Buck – you heard Stark," Steve argued, reaching over and halting Bucky's progress as he struggled to get the damned left arm into the strap of the parachute pack. "We need to take him in alive, so the rifle won't work…"

Bucky's stomach dropped as he put together what it was that Steve wasn't saying, nodding tightly and giving up on the parachute – they would have to rely on hand-to-hand combat, and with Bucky's prosthetic he would be more of a liability than an asset.

Steve squeezed Bucky's right shoulder after he'd finished securing his parachute, giving him a lopsided smile before turning towards the hold. "Besides… you and I both know there's only one God … and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."

And with the snappy line, Steve dropped out of the open hatch, leaving Bucky to stew as he pressed the button to close the door behind him. He kicked his discarded parachute back underneath the seat he'd taken it from, before shouldering his rifle and trying his best to suppress the rush of negative emotions he was feeling at the moment, hoping that the embarrassment wasn't too plain on his face.

"Hey, Barnes?" Romanoff called from the front, beckoning him towards the cockpit as she did. "I think we've got an eye on Loki… can you confirm?"

Bucky frowned, knowing that the jet must have reconnaissance equipment on it more than capable of making the ID for them, but stepped up to the windshield as requested, squinting down at the mountain ridge for a moment before nodding decisively. "That's definitely him, but he's alone… where the hell did the others…"

"We can work that out after we've got him in custody again," Romanoff interrupted, directing the jet forward, unfastening her seatbelt and giving over control of the ship to the SHIELD agent that had been co-piloting as they came to a stop on a ledge near Loki.

Bucky grabbed his rifle immediately, uncaring that he _technically_ wasn't supposed to shoot the prisoner – after the beating he'd taken from Steve, it wasn't as if a shot in the leg would kill the bastard, anyway. He opened the hatch as soon as the jet had touched the ground, leading the way up the last few meters of the hill with his sights trained on Loki the entire way. "Don't even think about trying to pull an escape," Bucky warned as he approached, cocking the gun once he was close enough to be sure that Loki would hear it. "Just get back on the jet and no one needs to get hurt…"

"Oh, spare the theatrics, Sergeant Barnes," Loki huffed, rising gracefully to his feet and keeping his hands visible as he made his way towards the quinjet, passing Bucky with a smirk.

"That's rich coming from you, pal," Bucky retorted, jabbing Loki roughly with the barrel of the gun in the back of his ridiculous green cape as he passed, then following closely behind him as they made their way to the jet where Agent Romanoff waited, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings.

"Besides," Loki added, ignoring Bucky's barb, "the way your _team_ is at one another's throats already, I think I'd like a chance to watch the show play out."

Before Bucky could ask what Loki was talking about, an incredible clang, like a gong-strike, sounded from the valley below, causing him to startle and turn in its direction, just in time to see a flash of light and massive energy wave knock down the majority of the trees in the clearing. "Steve…" he breathed harshly, his feet already carrying him down the hill without his noticing, mind racing with concern that it had been a bomb detonation, that Steve had been caught in it…

"BARNES!" A harsh female voice cut through his racing worries, pulling his attention back to Loki and the quinjet where Agent Romanoff was still glaring out at them. "Get the target loaded in, then we'll go pick up the others."

Bucky swallowed thickly, doing his best to push down his concern for Steve, then again used his gun to roughly shove Loki towards the quinjet, ignoring the man's laugh and the way that it sent shivers down his spine. Even if there had been a bomb – Steve had the shield, and had survived considerably worse. He might be a bit scuffed up, but he'd be fine. _If you repeat it enough_ , a mean voice in Bucky's head taunted, _you just might start to believe it_ …

Bucky helped Romanoff strap Loki back into his seat, this time adding additional restraints in the event that anyone else decided to show up and try to take off with their prisoner, as well. By the time they had him secured and had radioed the helicarier to let SHIELD know, both Stark and Thor had flown to their location, boarding the jet with a swagger that didn't exactly hide the fact that they looked as if they'd beaten each other to Hell.

"Where's the Captain?" Bucky asked as Stark took his helmet off, glancing out the open hatch and straining to get a view of him while trying to mask his concern.

Stark snorted, "Cap's fine, just refused a lift from either of us, so we'll have to wait for him to finish running up the hill." Sure enough, a couple of minutes later Steve was sprinting the final few meters into the jet, breathing heavily through his nose as he tried to hide how winded he was from the not-insignificant climb.

"You boys worked your issues out enough for us to head to base?" Romanoff asked testily from the front, barely waiting for their responses before lifting the jet from the mountainside and taking off.

The rest of the trip to the helicarier was uneventful, with all of them riding largely in silence, avoiding each other's eyes as they cooled down from whatever had happened in the woods, and Bucky did his best to let go of his continued disappointment of being left out of it all in the first place… still stung by the fact that Steve hadn't thought him capable of having his back in a fight. Steve, at least, didn't look any worse for wear considering the explosion that had rocked the area… Bucky made a mental note to ask what the hell had happened when they had a moment alone together, but otherwise focused on quietly glaring above Loki's head for the remainder of the flight, his rifle at the ready as he did his best (and largely failed) to ignore the creepy grin that remained plastered to his face.

There was a large group waiting on the flight deck for them when they finally landed inside the helicarier: an armed guard that shackled Loki and marched him towards what Bucky assumed would be the brig, a separate, smaller group which whisked Thor away, and a couple of agents dressed as the teams on the command deck had been, who took Bucky, Steve, Banner and Romanoff back to the bridge… Stark had apparently disappeared on his own amid the commotion, but Bucky couldn't say he was disappointed to have him gone.

As soon as they had settled around the war table on the bridge, small screens showed up on the glass, projecting Fury's discussion with Loki from the brig. They bickered back and forth with each other, trading barbs about power and the Tesseract, with Fury largely threatening the Asgardian and Loki responding in turn by mocking SHIELD and the team they had assembled to take him down. Bucky found himself even more unsettled by the entire situation by the time Fury had left the room and the screens disappeared from the table, the vision of Loki grinning out at the camera still stuck in his memory.

"He really grows on you, doesn't he?" Banner chuckled sarcastically, and Bucky had to give him credit for his lack of response over Loki's obvious digs at him.

"Loki's gonna drag this out, so… Thor, what's his play?" Steve asked, swiveling his chair so that his attention was fully directed in the Asgardian's direction.

The enormous blonde guy had turned out to be a Norse God from space, and went on to describe an army called the Chitauri that Loki was going to use to take over the world.

"An army," Bucky repeated incredulously, "from Outer Space?" Because the day hadn't been weird enough yet… he glanced at Steve, glad to see that he looked every bit as gobsmacked as Bucky felt.

Banner mentioned a scientist that was apparently helping Loki to harness the energy necessary for opening a portal with the Tesseract, someone who Thor apparently knew.

"Loki has him under some kind of spell, along with one of ours." Natasha stated ominously.

"The sniper?" Bucky asked, perking up. After the way that Loki had been goading him, Bucky wouldn't mind more information on the man that the Asgardian had apparently taken forcefully to fight on his side, so that he could avoid the same fate.

"I wanna know why Loki let us take him. He's not leading an army from here," Steve mused, before anyone could answer Bucky's question.

Banner dismissed Steve's concerns about Loki, pointing out how crazy the guy seemed, which led to Thor trying to defend him, only to have Romanoff dispassionately point out how ridiculous his kill count already was.

"He's adopted," Thor added with a grimace.

"I think it's about the mechanics – Iridium, what do they need the Iridium for?" Banner asked.

"It's a stabilizing agent," Stark responded lazily, strutting into the room in street clothes as if he owned the place, "It means the portal won't collapse on itself, like it did at SHIELD. Also, it means the portal can open as wide and stay open as long as Loki wants."

The entire group watched incredulously as Stark marched to the main command deck, poking around at the monitors and shouting out mocking commands. Bucky had hardly been a model soldier, and he knew that SHIELD wasn't exactly a military operation, but he couldn't even imagine showing the insubordination that Stark seemed to consider himself entitled to. Finally, after calling some poor agent out for a game that he was apparently playing, Stark got back to the topic of the Tesseract. "The rest of the raw materials Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily… the only major component he needs is a power source of high-energy density. Something to kick-start the cube."

He turned back to the group, looking at Steve and Bucky's bewildered faces with a sense of disappointment that made Bucky's blood boil. "Am I the only one that did the reading?"

"Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?" Bucky asked, uncaring if it made him sound stupid at the moment… he just wanted Stark to get to the damned point already, so that they could stop sitting around and begin planning their next move.

Banner jumped in at that, nervously pacing from his corner of the deck as he rambled about heating parameters, the units of which Bucky didn't even know existed. Stark jumped in, making a glib quip about quantum mechanics, which Banner immediately parried. It was the type of conversation that Bucky might have actually enjoyed listening to… had he had any background knowledge to work from so that he could actually understand what they were talking about.

"Finally, someone who speaks English," Tony grinned, crossing the deck to shake Banner's hand.

"Is that what just happened?" Steve muttered, leaning in so that only Bucky could hear it.

Stark complimented Banner on his scientific discoveries, only to turn around and tease him about the Hulk, a comment that left Banner looking as unsettled as Bucky felt. Because _that_ was exactly what they needed at the moment… for Stark's smartass mouth to set the doctor off.

"Doctor Banner is only here to track the cube," Fury interjected, making his way quickly onto the deck and thankfully diffusing the situation. "I was hoping you might join him."

"I'd start with that stick of his," Steve chimed in.

Bucky nodded in agreement as the attention turned towards the two of them, "It acts a lot like the old HYDRA weapons, and they were using the cube's energy all along for production."

"Sergeant Barnes is right in thinking that the staff is powered by the cube," Fury chimed in, "and I'd also like to know how Loki's used it to turn two of the smartest men I know into his personal flying monkeys."

"Monkeys?" Thor asked with a confused frown, "I do not understand…"

"I do!" Steve called out, turning to Bucky with an excited grin that he couldn't help smiling at in return, especially as he remembered how similar it was to the face he remembered Steve making the first time they'd watched Oz in theaters. "I understood that reference," Steve added with a nod, glancing around at the others in the room.

Bucky forced himself to look away from Steve, afraid of what his face might give away if his thoughts continued down the path they had already started on, only to catch Stark's over-dramatic eye-roll at Steve's excitement. As a result, Bucky didn't bother to hide the glare he directed at Stark's back as he and Banner made their way off of the bridge, leaving the rest of them behind as they went to work on Banner's progress in the ship's labs.

Fury turned to Romanoff once they had gone, asking her to meet him outside the brig for her next assignment, then turned his attention to Steve and Bucky. "The two of you can take five for a while… until we have a location on the cube I can't imagine there will be much for you to do."

They simply nodded in recognition, remaining seated as they watched him go. Bucky wasn't sure what they were expected to get up to – it wasn't as if they could help with the search for the cube, or with any of the other tech around the ship… they weren't even the only two who had seen the Tesseract in action anymore, given the fact that Fury had been there when Loki had used it to show up in the first place.

The longer they remained idle, the harder it became for Bucky to ignore the gnawing hunger in his gut. He was used to being hungry, of course; had spent most of his formative years feeling underfed thanks to The Depression, and ever since HYDRA had experimented on him Army rations had never been enough to keep the feeling at bay. The past couple of weeks with Steve cooking had helped somewhat, but given the fact that he'd barely had anything for breakfast in his excitement and it had been nearly a day ago at this point…

Swallowing his pride, Bucky stood up, unsurprised when Steve followed close behind, even as he approached Coulson who had been hovering nearby. "Uh… Agent Coulson," Bucky began, feeling a little awkward for the way he had been wordlessly busting the guys chops since he first started drooling over Steve in the apartment. "We were just wondering where the Mess is around here, and when it's open…"

Coulson had listened to Bucky's question with rapt attention, before blinking in surprise. "Oh, God… I'm sorry, I forgot to mention – we packed your suits with high protein bars, taking your metabolisms into consideration." He pointed to the awkward, tiny compartments in Steve's belt (all of them that they had checked prior had held magazines for his sidearm – after the third compartment they hadn't thought it worth continuing), as well as hidden pockets inside of Bucky's coat. "Mess Hall is closed until 0600, but those were formulated with the two of you in mind so they should hold you over…"

"Great, thanks," Steve responded sincerely, already making his way off of the bridge before Coulson could make it any more awkward.

Bucky was more than happy to follow, grabbing one of the foil packets out of the aforementioned pockets and studying the contents skeptically. "Now they're inventing food for us…" he muttered, tearing the foil open with his teeth, "Almost makes you wonder what weird shit they found in our blood when they tested it."

Steve hummed in agreement, finding a packet of his own and opening it just as quickly before taking a large bite.

Bucky did the same, frowning at the gritty, sticky texture as he chewed. They wandered aimlessly through the ship, silently looking around as they suffered through choking down the protein bars.

"Never thought I'd miss powdered eggs and spam…" Steve mused, sucking on his teeth as he paused outside of a lab door, glancing through the window before pressing the button beside to unlock it.

"Tastes like sweetened gravel," Bucky muttered around his last bite, jamming the wrapper in the pocket of his jacket... he was glad for the relief from the hunger, at least, but not for much else.

Steve turned the lever for the door, opening it to a small lab full of monitors and tools that Bucky couldn't begin to guess the uses of. Before he could properly appreciate all of the possibilities, he followed Steve's gaze to where Stark and Banner were standing next to each other at a monitor, watching with unease as Stark ducked behind Banner and poked him in the side with a probe of sorts, causing him to startle. "HEY!" Steve shouted, striding quickly into the room with his back ramrod straight, intimidation and demand for order practically oozing out of his obnoxious blue suit. It might have been funny, had Bucky not been bracing himself to face an enormous green monster. "Are you insane?" Steve asked tightly, and although his back was now to Bucky, he could practically see the glare that his friend was directing at Stark.

"Jury's out," Stark muttered, not even bothering to look at Steve as he continued bothering Banner, who seemed to be doing his best to focus on the scepter.

"Is everything a joke to you?" Steve asked testily.

"Funny things are." Stark answered flippantly.

"Threatening the safety of everyone on this ship isn't funny." Steve responded, his Captain voice taking over.

"No offense, Doc." Bucky added, nodding to where Banner had been slinking into the background. While he understood Steve's concern, it didn't feel right not to acknowledge the man while he was standing right there.

"You need to focus on the problem, Mr. Stark." Steve commanded.

"You think I'm not?" Stark asked, suddenly becoming considerably more serious, "Why didn't Fury call us in? Why now? Why not before? What isn't he telling us?"

"So you think Fury's hiding something?" Bucky asked, the _too_ on the end of the question left silent but heavily implied.

"He's a spy," Stark pointed out. "Guys… he's _the_ spy. His secrets have secrets. Don't act like it isn't bugging all of us…" He turned to Banner for backup.

Banner looked especially uncomfortable under their scrutiny, even more so than he had when Steve had been worrying about the Hulk. "Uh… I just wanna finish my work here, and…"

"Doctor Banner?" Steve asked, clearly wanting to get another opinion. Bucky did his best not to let it bother him, remembering a time when his word have been good enough…

Banner hesitated for a few moments, pulling his glasses off of his nose before agreeing uncomfortably, bringing up Loki's jab from his conversation with Fury in the brig and arguing that it was an insult meant for Stark instead, "Even if Barton didn't tell Loki about the tower, it's still all over the news.

"The Stark Tower?" Steve asked, "That big, ugly…" he hesitated for a second as Stark glared at him, before finishing, "building in New York."

Banner nodded, going on to talk about the arc reactor in the building and its potential for clean, self-sustainable energy… Stark confirmed his understanding of it, bragging about how it had allowed him to create a monopoly in the energy business. "So why didn't SHIELD bring him in on the Tesseract project?" Banner questioned, "What are they doing in the energy business in the first place?"

"Using it for something other than energy," Bucky muttered, crossing his arms over his chest as he tried to suppress how uncomfortable the idea made him.

"Like weapons?" Steve asked, turning to face Bucky with a grim look.

"There's precedence for it, isn't there?" Bucky answered darkly, before looking across the table again, trying not to feel too proud by the fact that Banner and Stark looked interested. "It's the reason that HYDRA wanted the cube in the first place, they used it to power all of their weapons during the war…"

"Yeah, well… I'll put a search out specifically for WMD specs once my decription program finishes breaking into all of SHIELD's secure files…" Stark said, pulling a tiny device out of the pocket of his jeans as he made his way around the table and studying its screen.

"I'm sorry, did you just say…" Steve started with a frown.

"JARVIS has been running it since I hit the bridge," Stark bragged, "In a few hours I'll know every dirty secret SHIELD has ever tried to hide."

"And you're confused about why they didn't want you around." Steve scoffed incredulously.

"An intelligence agency that's afraid of intelligence?" Stark asked, pointing out the hypocrisy behind it all. "Historically not awesome, Cap."

Steve straightened again, and while Bucky could see the conflict in his friend, he could tell that the soldier in Steve wasn't going to let it get to him. "I think Loki's trying to wind us up," Steve started. "This is a man who means to start a war, and if we don't stay focused, he'll succeed. We have orders. We should follow them."

"Yeah… following isn't really my style." Stark said with a flippant smirk.

"And everything's about style with you, isn't it?" Steve murmured, stepping closer so that he loomed over Stark. His tone put Bucky on edge – he knew it all too well, knew that when Steve Rogers started puffing up over something like this and didn't get his way, a fight usually followed.

Stark rolled his eyes before responding smarmily. "I'm sorry, of the people in this room, which one is A, wearing a spangly outfit, and B, not of use?"

"Steve," Bucky interrupted, grabbing his bicep before he could advance any further. "C'mon, let's let them get back to work... jawing at each other ain't helping anyone."

Steve exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching for a moment before he commanded, "Just find the damned cube," That said, he turned without so much as glancing at Bucky and marched angrily towards the door.

They made their way back into the hall in silence, the muscles in Steve's jaw clenched so tight that Bucky had to wonder how he wasn't busting a molar, serum be damned. They made eye contact with one another once the door had closed behind them, hesitating for only a moment before reaching a silent agreement – that something definitely was fishy, despite how they felt about Stark's way of going about dealing with it. They turned at the same time, changing course so that they were moving back to the weapons hold again.

Despite their ridiculous outfits and the fact that everyone on the ship obviously recognized them by now, they were able to make it to the ammunitions stores without any interference. Bucky stood watch as Steve tried to pry the door open, letting him struggle with the powered door for a few seconds before joining him, his right arm adding enough strength to break the motorized lock that held it shut. That done they crept into the room, keeping to the shadows before leaping up onto the catwalk above. Bucky bit his lip to keep himself from smirking at Steve's reaction when he landed behind him, knowing that it was hardly the time to gloat over the fact that he was finally able to show off the creepy abilities that he had slowly been gaining since his time in captivity.

They split up on the upper deck, Bucky going right and beginning to dig through seemingly endless crates of tactical gear and automatic rifles, while Steve began searching through crates on the opposite end of the hold. After a few moments of working in silence, his ears strained to pick up any sounds of approaching footsteps, he heard Steve whisper his name tightly from the other end of the room. Bucky made his way over immediately, stepping up next to the crates that Steve remained facing, his muscles wound as if he was ready to fight whatever was contained inside.

Bucky felt the same wave of anger as he looked at the contents – heavy-duty masks and vests in one, but in the other weapons that looked all-too-similar to those he remembered assembling with the other POWs in Austria. Bucky reached into the crate labeled **PHASE TWO** , pulling out the gun and unlocking the safety, his right hand trembling with rage as it glowed blue. Steve reached across him to turn it off immediately, his fists clenching at his side as he muttered quietly, "How could they… They didn't fucking learn…"

Bucky swallowed down bile as it rose in his throat, knowing exactly what was going through Steve's mind – all that they had done to take HYDRA down, all that they had sacrificed for the sake of saving the world – and now they were working for an organization stupid enough to try the same damned thing. Regardless of what it was SHIELD might have planned for the weapons, they both knew that even creating them in the first place was wrong. Steve closed the crates harshly, before shaking his head and taking long strides towards the hallway… Bucky followed behind, deciding to keep the damned gun as evidence, his anger continuing to churn in his gut as they made their way back to the lab.

Steve smacked the door to the lab open, and Bucky felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he noticed Fury standing next to the bench Banner and Stark were seated on. "What is phase two?" he heard Stark ask, clearly having finished his data-mining.

"Phase two is SHIELD using the cube to make weapons," Steve responded tightly, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at Fury as Bucky sat the ray gun on the bench next to them.

"Sorry, Stark… computer was moving a little slow for us." Bucky added, although his tone made it clear that he wasn't sorry at all… if anything, he wished Stark had gotten off his ass and accomplished more, so that they could get the cube back already before they faced an even bigger mess.

Fury tried to defend himself, insisting that they were only gathering information on the Tesseract, but Stark interrupted him almost as quickly, flipping the screen he was working on around so that Steve and Bucky could see the schematics of the missile plans he had uncovered.

"I was wrong, Director… the world hasn't changed a bit." Steve spat.

Thor and Romanoff entered through the door Steve had left open, and Banner immediately set in on Romanoff, escalating far too quickly for Bucky's liking. From what he could gather, Romanoff had brought Banner in on the project to begin with, had probably promised him that no one would stress him into being a risk, and now was worried that Loki was going to force him into Hulking out. When Banner turned on Fury and demanded to know why SHIELD was blaming weapons, Fury turned and blamed Thor.

Bucky scoffed at the answer, "Is anyone born after 1950 capable of taking responsibility?"

Fury ignored it, of course, arguing back and forth with Thor… although Thor insisted that Asgard was no threat to Earth, Fury countered that there were other aliens, and that the last time that Thor had visited Earth he'd proven that human weapons stood no chance against those from other armies. "The world's filling up with people who can't be matched… can't be controlled." Fury insisted.

 _People like me and Steve_ , Bucky's mind supplied, his anxiety only ramping higher.

"Like you controlled the cube?" Steve asked sarcastically.

"You guys had no idea… you hadn't seen what that damned thing was capable of…" Bucky added before he could stop himself.

"And your work with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it, and his allies. It is a signal to all the realms that the Earth is ready for a higher form of war." Thor warned, glaring at Fury all the while.

The situation only devolved from there, and within seconds they were all snarking at each other, trading barbs around the group as they all joined in, the insults and accusations growing increasingly more personal. Bucky was in the middle of advancing on Stark with Steve, not even caring about their difference in size or the fact that Stark apparently had no real physical enhancements outside of his suit, when Banner's voice interrupted all of them.

"We aren't a team, we're a time bomb." He warned, his tone still placid enough to make it chilling.

"You need to step away." Fury commanded harshly, the rest of their arguments dying away as they turned to watch what happened next.

Of course… it meant Stark thought it was time to be a smartass again. "Why shouldn't the guy blow a little steam off?"

"You know damned well why, back off!" Steve yelled, smacking Stark's hand away from where he'd laid it against Steve's arm.

"Oh… I'm starting to want you to make me." Stark muttered darkly.

"Yeah. Big man in a suit of armor," Steve sneered. "Take that off, what are you?"

"Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist." Stark bragged.

"I know guys with none of that worth ten of you." Steve responded harshly, and Bucky pictured each one of the Howlies, all dead now, same as he knew that Steve had. "I've seen the footage, the only thing you really fight for is yourself. You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you…"

"I think I'd just cut the wire," Stark interrupted flippantly.

"Always a way out," Steve smirked, and Bucky found himself moving closer. "Ya know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero."

"A hero? Like you?" Stark asked with an answering smirk, stepping in closer and glaring up at Steve, "You're a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle," Stark hissed.

The rage Bucky felt at Stark's words propelled him forward immediately, and before he fully realized what he was doing he had grabbed Stark roughly by the front of his shirt, his left arm whirring as he shook him so hard Stark's teeth made an audible clack. "You wanna say that again, pal?" He spat, blood rushing in his ears as he barely restrained himself from smashing Stark's smug face in.

"Bucky!" Steve called out, and while Bucky didn't take a swing, he couldn't bring himself to loosen his hold on the fabric between his fingers, continuing to loom over the disrespectful little bastard.

"Call your dog off, Rogers…" Stark growled, glaring up at Bucky with what looked like the same amount of disdain Bucky was feeling for him.

"He ain't the _boss_ of me, Stark," Bucky snarled back, "and I think it's time you learned some damned manners…"

"Buck… Bucky, let him go," Steve interrupted, although it was the gentle, familiar touch of his friend's hand on the crook of Bucky's elbow that had him finally loosening his grip. "He's not worth the trouble."

Bucky turned to Steve, unable to help giving the hypocrite a withering look… he knew full-well that had their roles been reversed, Steve would have probably put Stark in the Med Bay trying to defend Bucky's honor… all the same, he remembered that Fury was still standing by, probably waiting for evidence to use as an excuse to label the both of them unstable and throw them in the brig as well. With one final glare at Stark, he released the shirt roughly, stepping away so that he didn't end up forced into becoming Fury's pet super soldier.

Stark remained puffed-up, smoothing the fabric down before snarking, "Good boy, Bucky Bear."

"Why don't you go put on the suit, Stark… we can go a few rounds." Steve sneered, putting himself between Stark and Bucky.

Apparently their imminent fight set the group off again, with the others starting up their side-arguments as Steve and Bucky glared down at Stark. It wasn't until Fury mentioned the cell that Bucky started to tune into the outside conversations again, frowning as the rest of them went quiet with Banner's story about his suicide attempt… which the Hulk had apparently thwarted. The thought was so horrifying that Bucky couldn't even focus on his anger with Stark, instead watching as Banner continued to escalate, becoming increasingly angry with Fury for having brought him into their situation in the first place.

"You wanna know my secret, Agent Romanoff?" Banner growled, grabbing the scepter from the table and advancing towards her, the blue gem pulsing as he spoke. "You want to know how I stay calm?"

"Dr. Banner," Steve interrupted calmly, his hands raised as Banner turned on him. "Put down he scepter."

His words, at least, seemed to get through to Banner, who glanced down at his hand in surprise before dropping the stick back onto the worktop he had snatched it from. The entire room seemed to let out a sigh of relief, as Banner frowned heavily at all of them, his meek and bumbling persona from before completely gone. "Sorry kids, you don't get to see my party trick after all." He muttered, before being interrupted by the computer alarm sounding, a red target flashing on the map on the screen.

"We got it," Fury announced, apparently meaning that the cube had been found.

"You located the Tesseract?" Thor asked, moving to the screen to see as well.

"I can get there fastest," Stark bragged, already marching towards the door like the overconfident prick he was.

"The Tesseract belongs on Asgard, no human can control it." Thor argued.

Stark, of course, ignored the warning and continued for the door, only turning when Steve grabbed his arm to stop him, arguing, "You're not going alone."

"You gonna stop me?" Stark sneered, knocking his hand away.

"Put on the suit, let's find out." Bucky smirked, parroting Steve's earlier request and hoping that Stark would take them up on it… he sorely wanted the excuse to beat on him.

"I'm not afraid to hit old men…"

"Put on the suit." Steve demanded coldly, stepping up so that he loomed uncomfortably close over Stark's considerably smaller form.

Behind them, Bucky barely noticed the computers trilling again, although he did catch Banner's panicked murmur. "Oh my God…"

A second later an explosion rocked the ship, blasting the lab apart and knocking all three of them to the ground. As soon as the shock of the impact had worn off Bucky looked to Steve, who thankfully was sitting up as well, looking to an equally shaken Stark. "Put on the suit…" he instructed breathlessly, which Stark immediately agreed with, getting to his feet and rushing to wherever it was that he'd stored his gear.

Tannoys overhead called all hands to stations, and after a minute Hill's voice came over their personal earpieces, asking Stark to head out to fix one of the ship's engines. Steve copied the request, grabbing his sidearm and starting in the same direction as Stark had gone to give him cover, before turning back to Bucky. "Someone needs to go make sure Loki can't take command of the ship… go cover the bridge, Stark and I can handle the engine."

Bucky wanted nothing more than to tell Steve to fuck himself, hating the idea of abandoning him in the middle of an attack, but he knew that he was right… especially as it became apparent over the coms that Romanoff was busy escaping the Hulk and Thor was trying to subdue it before it tore the ship apart. "Just radio if you need back-up, and don't do anything stupid," Bucky responded before turning and sprinting in the opposite direction, heading directly for the bridge.

By the time he made it to the bridge there were already men in SHIELD uniforms opening fire on the actual agents inside – Bucky shouldered his rifle for a moment, grabbing his sidearm with his right hand and firing off four shots in quick succession, dropping each enemy that he hit, before making his way onto the bridge. "Thanks," Hill responded shortly, her own pistol at the ready as she waited for more to come through.

Bucky nodded, moving to the side of the command center and setting up with his rifle, deciding that it was the best location to view the main entry points to the bridge while also avoiding doubling up on shooters in any one spot. It turned out to be a good call – he was able to provide her, Fury, and those who were trying desperately to keep the ship in the air with adequate cover, dropping incoming attackers every few minutes until he began to feel confident that there couldn't be many left to follow. Meanwhile, though, he listened helplessly as the Hulk continued tearing the ship up and Hill tried to put plans into place that would eliminate its threat.

The windows of the command center gave them the perfect view of the huge green monster leaping out of the helicarier onto a nearby fighter jet, tearing the pilot out before plummeting to the Earth. Bucky watched him disappear with a wave of nausea, taking a second to hope that Banner could somehow survive it, even if it didn't seem likely given their altitude.

He quickly shook the thought off – Bucky had watched enough of his men die during the War to know the consequences of focusing on death during a battle – and immediately picked up on the sound of Steve struggling with something through their headset. He glanced to Hill, who along with Fury seemed to have the situation well under control given the fact that the onslaught seemed to be over, before slinging his rifle back over his shoulder and taking off. "This is Barnes… I'm moving to engine three to give cover for Cap and Stark."

He sprinted through the halls of the ship, navigating the twists and turns with ease, flying past agents who were scattered in all directions, trying to minimize damage as chaos reigned around them. As Bucky neared the location of the engine, he noticed a team of hostiles still engaged, and slowed just enough that his footfalls wouldn't be heard before picking off three of them with shots that were so quick none had the time to turn to see him coming.

Bucky leapt over the remaining bodies, his heart sinking as he got closer to the hole in the side of the ship and failed to see Steve's ridiculous outfit. He didn't want to imagine… before his mind could provide him some horrible version of the worst case scenario, Bucky spotted Steve clinging to a loose wire, trying to pull himself back into the ship as the wind whipped against him.

"HANG ON!" Bucky screamed over the sound, making his way to the edge of the ship and grabbing the wire at his end, pulling it in with all of his strength. Between Steve's weight and the force of the wind as the ship hurtled towards the ground, it took all of Bucky's power to begin pulling the wire in, especially when the force pulled his prosthesis loose from his shoulder. Gritting his teeth against the pain Bucky focused on simply trying to hold the wire in place with his left hand, pulling with all of his strength as he backed his way into the helicarier, dragging the length of the wire along with him. After a few agonizing seconds of struggling, between the two of them Steve had closed enough distance that he stepped into the hole in the side of the ship, panting with exertion as he fell onto the floor. "Thanks," he said breathlessly to Bucky, before Stark shouted through the headset, asking if Steve was by the lever yet.

Bucky did his best to shoulder his rifle, providing cover as Steve leapt across the hole in the ship, giving Stark an affirmative while Bucky shot down yet another damned gunman. Steve pulled the lever on Stark's command, and they both heaved a sigh of relief as the ship stuttered then righted itself, the wind that had been rushing past in the freefall slowing to a stop as the engines righted themselves. Stark appeared next to the hole a second later, hovering outside for a moment. "See… easy peasy." He said shortly, apparently ignoring the fact that Steve and Bucky were still breathless and surrounded by bodies. "I'm going to go check the rest of the ship for damage, you two might as well get to the detention level, make sure Barton doesn't get to Loki."

"There's no reason for that," Fury's voice immediately interrupted, "Romanoff has subdued Barton and Loki's gone, along with Thor and Banner. Agent Coulson is dead. Change out of your gear and report to the bridge for further instructions."

For a second the three of them stared at each other in shock, processing the news, before Bucky pushed himself to his feet with a grimace, fully aware of his fault in what had happened. Granted, Steve might not have been able to help Tony adequately had Bucky not been there to have his back, they wouldn't have lost the control room had Bucky stayed to his post. And while he didn't know what Coulson's situation had been…

"Buck," Steve's voice interrupted, his footsteps jogging quickly behind him so that he easily caught up to Bucky. "Thanks out there. You… you made the call you thought was the best one, I don't know if we would have gotten the engine back online without you."

Bucky gave him a weak smile, knowing that there was no point in arguing with Steve when he was in Captain Morale mode, even though they both knew what he said was bullshit. There was spare sets of undershirts in the same locker room they'd found their suits in, and they both cleaned up and dressed in silence, leaving their pants and boots on in case they were called back into action, before making their way to the bridge where Stark and Fury were both waiting for them.

Fury tossed Coulson's bloodstained trading cards onto the table as he explained the idea behind the Avengers Initiative to them, and Bucky noted with a sick sense of guilt that there had been Howling Commando cards included as well… his own face looked up at him, hair slicked to the side with pomade and rifle held aloft as he stared into the camera, looking brave and stupid and impossibly young, even though he was going through hell when it was taken.

The three of them remained seated around the table in sullen quiet after Fury had left the table, the rest of the bridge too busy trying to pull command back together to even notice them. It was a far cry from when they had been big damned heroes earlier in the day. Steve and Stark started talking about Coulson, discussing his family which somehow lead to talking about how bad an idea it had been for him to take on Loki on his own.

"Is this the first time you've lost a soldier?" Bucky found himself asking, strangely disconnected from the entire conversation as his mind started providing him with images of all of the young privates he'd watched snuffed out in trenches, of the other prisoners in the HYDRA camp who had shriveled up and died on the lab benches next to him…

"We are _not_ soldiers!" Stark suddenly raged, turning on Bucky with a wild glare. He took a deep breath as Bucky sunk back in his seat, honestly not having meant to start anything, this time. "I'm not marching to Fury's fife." Stark added darkly.

"Neither are we," Steve responded calmly, standing from where he had been seated at the table and moving so that he was between Stark and Bucky. "He has the same blood on his hands that Loki does. But right now we gotta put that behind us and get this done. Now… you said Loki needs a power source… if we can put together a list of…"

"He made it personal." Stark interrupted, his gaze locked on the bloody trading cards still sitting in the middle of the table.

"That's not the point…" Bucky sighed, trying to get them back on track.

"No, that is the point," Stark argued. "That's Loki's point. He hit us all right where we live, why?"

"To tear us apart," Steve answered, although his voice hardly sounded certain.

"Yeah, but he'll want to beat us all together, in public… he'll want an audience." Stark began pacing around again, apparently hoping to work himself up enough that he could get into Loki's crazy mindset.

"You mean like his act in Stuttgart?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah, but that was just previews… this, this is opening night, and Loki's a full-tilt diva. He'll want flowers, he'll want parades, he wants a monument built to the skies with his name plastered…" Stark's rant trailed off, frowning as his brain apparently found a way to move faster than his mouth, although Bucky wouldn't have thought it possible. "Son of a bitch."

"What?" Steve asked, standing at the ready as he waited for Stark's call.

"The tower… he's going to use the arc reactor for his energy source. You two go get Romanoff and a quinjet, then head for New York as fast as you can… I'll go grab the suit and meet you there." Stark instructed, already making his way towards the exit to the conference room, his frenetic energy apparently having returned. He paused in the doorway, frowning for a moment before asking. "The arm alright, Barnes?"

Bucky had already jumped to his feet, more than ready to get moving and hit Loki back, but the question gave him pause. It was surprising enough to have Stark act like he cared about him… but it also occurred to Bucky that he hadn't even thought about the arm since jumping into action after the explosions. He rolled his left shoulder experimentally – the prosthesis wasn't at all comfortable anymore, especially where he'd strained it trying to haul Steve back onto the helicarier, but it still seemed to be working. "It's fine?" Bucky responded, still uncomfortable with where the question might be going.

"Good… great..." Stark responded, turning out the door before pausing and spinning back to face them again, obviously working himself up to something. "Just… after we get out of all this, call me up – we'll bring you by Stark Tower and build you a permanent one, figure out the neural-interfacing and what kinds of biomaterials we need for skin fusion, eliminate the need for straps and ear pieces and whatever other outdated, knock-off HammerTech SHIELD decided to settle on." He'd rattled the last bits off so fast that Bucky had barely understood them, then fled through the door without another glance back at either of them.

Bucky took a deep breath, glancing to Steve in confusion, only to be meant by the same bewildered expression on his friend's face. "I guess we'll worry about it when all of this is over?" Bucky asked.

"Probably for the best," Steve answered, leading the way off of the bridge. "Let's go grab the others… we've got a score to settle."


	9. Chapter 9: Avengers Assemble, Pt III

Steve and Bucky made their way back to the locker room as soon as Stark had left for the lab, quickly pulling on the remainder of their suits. Steve grabbed his shield and made for the hallway, only to notice Bucky still sorting through his weapons, a perturbed frown on his face. "Everything alright?" Steve asked, pausing in the doorway as he waited for Buck to catch up.

"They've got me kitted with a rifle with a handful of extra clips, a side arm, and a _switchblade_ ," Bucky spat, digging through the rest of his locker with a frustrated sigh. "That's hardly gonna be enough for a battle, and it ain't exactly like I'm going to be much use in hand-to-hand combat…"

Steve bit his lip for a moment, knowing that Bucky was right, before nodding in the direction of the weapons locker. "I've gotta go get Romanoff anyway, last I heard she was still with Agent Barton in the Med Bay… you go lift whatever you need from that arsenal we found earlier, then meet us down on the flight deck."

Bucky glanced up at him with a momentary look of surprise, which just as quickly changed into a smug smirk. "Yessir, Captain." He responded with a nod, before tucking his sidearm and knife into his coat then making his way out of the room. Steve watched for a second as Bucky casually strolled in the direction of the weapons hold, confident that his friend looked every bit as innocent from the front as his back did, before taking off at a much quicker pace in the direction of the Med Bay.

Steve found Agent Romanoff seated in an isolation room, thankfully uninjured. "Time to go," he said simply as she glanced up at him.

"Go where?" she asked, already rising from the bed as a compact man with dark blond hair made his way out of the bathroom.

"I'll tell you on the way… can you fly one of those jets?" Steve asked, remembering that on their other flight she'd been copiloting.

"I can." The man (Barton, Steve reminded himself) answered, dropping the towel he had been holding onto the bed.

Steve looked at Romanoff, unsure of how to feel about the idea of trusting someone who had so recently been under Loki's control, but she nodded back confidently. He immediately decided to trust her judgment… she'd been nothing but competent so far, and had clearly had a history with Barton as an agent in the past. "You got a suit?" He asked Barton, unsurprised by his affirmative nod. "Then suit up."

It only took Barton and Romanoff a couple of minutes to get ready, then they quickly made their way to the flight deck. Bucky stood next to the main entryway, the pockets of his pants and jacket obviously stuffed with every bit of ammo as he could fit on his body. He stood at attention as they approached, although his eyes narrowed as he actually got a look at the newest member of their group.

"A bow and arrows?" Bucky asked, looking at Clint with a look of plain incredulity on his face. "You're the sniper Fury was going on about… and you use a bow."

"And you're my replacement… with a knock-off HammerTech arm and a bad Carry Grant haircut," Clint responded without missing a beat. "If you wanna keep a kill count through whatever shitstorm we end up in, I'd be happy to embarrass you with mine, Barnes."

Steve half-expected another argument to start, but Bucky ended up grinning, shaking his head and falling into step with them as they made their way to an empty jet at the end of the flight deck. "You're on, Robin Hood…" he responded with a dark chuckle, before muttering, "with a bow and arrow…" lowly enough that Steve was sure he was the only one to pick up on it.

They were all business by the time they hit the hold of the quinjet, stepping inside as a SHIELD pilot stepped out from the cockpit to confront them. "You guys aren't authorized to…"

"Son," Steve interrupted, in no mood to deal with protocol at the moment, "just don't."

Thankfully, the poor kid took a look at the four of them and immediately left without a word, looking a little green around the gills as Bucky saluted him before closing the hatch behind them. It only took Barton and Romanoff a few seconds to get the jet powered up, and the next thing Steve knew they were making their way out of the helicarrier, with surprisingly little pushback either from the radio or the staff on the deck.

Bucky sat in the hold as the jet raced its way over the open ocean, methodically packing ammunition and knives away in the pockets of his pants and coat. If not for the metal arm and the modern ship around them, Steve might have been able to pretend that it was 1945 all over again, that this was just another mission with the Howlies, getting ready to take down one more HYDRA outpost…

"Steve," Bucky's voice interrupted his thoughts, before he poked him in the side with the butt of a pistol. "If you have anywhere to store the thing in that ridiculous belt, or… somewhere."

Steve accepted it, sure that he probably wouldn't end up using it as long as he had his shield on him, but oddly touched that Bucky had thought of it in the first place. "Not that you're shot's worth a damn, but…" Bucky added slyly as he rolled to his feet, completely ruining the moment.

"You guys might want to see this…" Romanoff muttered from the front, so both Bucky and Steve turned, stepping into the entry to the cockpit with wide eyes as they looked out over the island of Manhattan… watching in horror as a blue beam of light shot into the sky over Stark tower – a huge, black hole appearing in the otherwise clear sky around it.

"It's like Schmidt's portal," Steve breathed, unable to take his eyes off of the hole as objects began to fly out of it, "only…"

"Ten times fuckin' worse." Bucky grumbled beside him, his face white as he stared ahead at the mess.

Barton made a choked sound of surprise, pushing the controls on the jet forward so that it moved even faster towards the mess, before asking, "Did Bucky Barnes just drop an F Bomb?"

"Bucky Barnes spent two years in the US Army at war," Bucky sneered. "Believe me, cuss words were alive and well _long_ before I was usin' 'em…"

"Let's focus on finding Loki," Steve interrupted, before they could find a way to get any more off-track. "Barton… get us in as close to the top of the tower as you can."

Thankfully, Barton did exactly that, taking them in a circle around the portal and Stark's landing deck before coming up on a platform where Thor and Loki cornered in a fight.

"I've got a shot at him," Romanoff announced, apparently for Stark's sake, but before she could get the guns to engage, Loki had turned the scepter on them, blowing out one of the engines on the quinjet.

Alarms inside the cockpit began going off and the jet began a spiral downward – Steve grabbed on to the bracers in the hold, doing his best to keep himself steady as the jet seemed to go into free-fall. Bucky was doing the same on the other side of the plane; Steve looked to him as they took another hit, shaking the jet badly enough that even Steve struggled to keep himself upright. While Bucky's grip held fine, the jarring clearly separated the stump of his shoulder away from the prosthetic before jamming it back into place, and even above all of the chaos Steve heard him hiss in pain, pulling the arm against his side as he held on with only his right.

Thankfully, Barton managed to somehow bring the bird down, rocking them again but otherwise leaving them uninjured. Steve let go of his hold a second before Bucky did and dropped back to the ground of the jet, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice as he asked quietly, "You okay?"

"Fine," Bucky responded tightly, slamming on the button that opened the hatch of the jet with far more force than necessary and raising his rifle as he stepped out onto the street, surveying their surroundings as Steve and the others followed close behind.

They made their way towards the familiar edifice of Grand Central Station, and for a second Steve had to wonder if this was all some strange nightmare that he was having, watching as horrible, flying aliens streaked through his city, blowing chunks out of buildings and cars with plasma guns. His answer came when an enormous, robotic, flying slug came floating overhead, leaving even Bucky gaping in shock. If Buck, whose imagination for ridiculous sci-fi shit bordered on insane sometimes, couldn't process what they were watching, Steve knew his brain couldn't be inventing it. "Stark?" He asked, aware that he hadn't actually seen Iron Man since the plane had landed, "Are you seeing this?"

"Seeing it," Stark's voice confirmed over the com, "not sure if I'm believing it, yet. Is Banner with you?"

"Banner?" Steve asked, "You aren't really expecting him to…"

"He'll show up…" Stark interrupted confidently, "just let me know when he gets here."

Steve rolled his eyes, but before he could think of anything to say a group of Chitauri seemed to materialize out of the flying monster – ship? Damned if he had any idea, at this point – dropping to the street below and making their way towards them, leaving a wave of destruction in their path.

"Well…" Bucky sighed, releasing the safety on his rifle as Romanoff pulled a pair of pistols out of her thigh holsters, "this oughta be fun…"

They fanned out in a circle, with Bucky and Barton taking out as many of the flying aliens as they could while Steve and Romanoff largely focused on the foot soldiers. Initially, it wasn't too terrible… the aliens were tough, but far from unbeatable, and they didn't seem to have noticed that the team of them were even there – instead simply flying around, causing as much chaos and destruction as they could.

That changed quickly when a large squadron of them flew overhead, a familiar green and gold figure at the lead. Steve had to assume that Loki had noticed them and made it known to his army, because they began attacking the bridge in droves, forcing the four of them to take cover behind a row of abandoned cars, the sounds of civilians on the streets below screaming as the attack carried over to them.

"They're fish in a barrel down there…" Steve muttered, leaning around the side of the taxi to get a better view of the street below. He stood to make a move, before a shockingly strong hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back down, only for Bucky to lean forward and fire a shot at a Chitauri that had been hurtling directly at them.

"You're about to do something stupid," Bucky sighed, "you've got that look…"

"We can't just leave them, Buck," Steve argued, torn between the idea of abandoning a bunch of defenseless civilians and holding their post as planned.

"Go," Romanoff chimed in, standing and firing both of her pistols as she targeted the new Chitauri that started bearing down on them, "we've got this."

"You sure?" Steve asked, glancing to where Barton was in the middle of reloading his bow. He didn't mean to insult the man, but compared to Bucky's small arsenal…

"Cap… it would be my genuine pleasure." Barton responded drolly, pressing a button that apparently activated his quiver, then turning and blindly firing off an arrow – which struck a passing Chitauri aircraft dead on, before apparently sending an electric pulse through it that sent both the vehicle and its passengers smashing into the pavement below, where it took out at least three of the foot soldiers.

Deciding that the shot was evidence enough of Barton's competency, Steve turned to Bucky, who simply nodded as they made eye contact… evidently thinking the same thing. Steve took a deep breath, scanning the streets that ran between their position and the trapped civilians, quickly plotting out his course before taking off at a sprint. He could see Bucky in his periphery just before he leapt off of the bridge, keeping pace and firing shots at the squadron that set in on them but staying a few yards to Steve's left. For his part, Steve leapt directly off of the middle of the bridge, landing easily on the bus below and using his momentum to roll so that he barely broke stride as he ran. Despite the numerous Chitauri that continued falling around him, shots from their plasma beams continued to rain down around him, at one point actually hitting the vehicle that he had been running on, flinging him forward with enough force that he had to summersault through the air to land safely.

By this point he had lost sight of Bucky completely, but wouldn't let himself worry for now… with the number of kill shots that continued to cover his back, he had no doubt that his friend was still fine, and covering his six as Steve had always been able to count on. Steve finally reached the group of police officers he had been running for, leaping on top of a squad car to get their attention before calling out orders.

"You need men in these buildings." Steve commanded, pointing out the tallest structures around them. "There are people inside, and they're going to be running right into the line of fire. You take them through the basements or through the subway. You keep them off the streets." From the corner of his eye, Steve saw Bucky drop a couple of incoming Chitauri with single shots, even as the officers in front of him continued staring at him stupidly. "I need a perimeter as far back as 39th."

"Why the hell should I take orders from you?" The policeman, who Steve assumed to be the chief, interrupted incredulously.

Before he could think of an answer, two Chitauri dropped onto the squad car next to him – Steve swung his shield, knocking the first one down, then turned and threw a punch that disarmed the other, before bringing his shield down with enough force that it chopped the thing's arm off. As he turned back to finish the first one, Bucky swooped in from his hiding spot, blasting the thing's head off before glancing at the officer in disgust. "You're gonna ignore a direct order from Captain America?"

The officer blinked at the two of them, before turning away and speaking into his walkie. "I need men in those buildings… Lead the people down and away from the streets..."

Bucky's snort drowned out whatever Steve might have been able to hear the chief continue to say, and a new onslaught of Chitauri took on their full attention, anyway. This group was small enough for Bucky to handle for a while, although things began getting dicey as their back-up rolled up Park Avenue, bearing down on their position. Steve pulled his own sidearm, unconfident that it would do much good to help… but before he was able to fire so much as a shot, an enormous lightning bolt splintered out of the sky, striking down every Chitauri fighter and aircraft within at least a block. There was a streak of red and an impossibly heavy impact next to them, which turned out to be Thor, apparently done fighting with Loki on the tower.

"What's the story upstairs?" Steve asked, focusing on getting intel from Thor while Bucky scanned for the next attack.

"The power surrounding the cube is impenetrable," Thor answered begrudgingly, glaring up at the continued beam of light the Tesseract was shooting into the portal.

"Thor's right," Tony's voice interrupted over the coms, "we've got to deal with these guys."

"Good thing we've got _that_ under control, then…" Bucky scoffed, unloading the clip to his rifle and jamming a new one in before opening fire on yet another squad of Chitauri.

A hail of arrows joined his bullets, so that after a few seconds they were left alone again – Steve glanced over his shoulder to see Romanoff and Barton jogging over to join them. Romanoff asked how the hell they were supposed to go forward, a thought Steve was having himself, even as he answered shortly, "As a team."

"I have unfinished business with Loki," Thor interrupted, posturing as he looked to the sky.

"Yeah? Well get in line…" Barton muttered.

"Save it." Steve ordered, trying to pull everyone back to the task at hand; the last thing they needed was a repeat of the helicarrier disaster, with all of them fracturing because of individual agendas. "Loki's gonna keep this fight focused on us, and that's exactly what we need. Without him, these things could run wild. We got Stark up top. He's going to need us to…"

He trailed off, turning towards the improbable sound of a tired old motorbike rolling towards them – and the even more unlikely image of Bruce Banner riding it. "So…" he said cheerily as he stepped off of the bike, "this all seems horrible."

"I've seen worse," Romanoff responded, her face leery as she watched him approach. Banner, predictably, apologized – looking even more sheepish than he had before. "No, we could use a little worse."

"Stark," Steve announced into his own headpiece, remembering his request, "we got him."

"Banner?" Stark's voice asked. "Then tell him to suit up, I'm bringing the party to you."

There wasn't any time to wonder what Stark was getting at… a second later the Iron Man suit came flying into view, with one of the giant ships hot on his trail.

"Looks like parties have changed a lot since our day, Stark." Buck drawled, raising his rifle even though all of them knew it wouldn't do a damned bit of good.

"Dr. Banner," Steve said as calmly as possible, watching as the man was already striding towards the oncoming monster, "now might be a really good time for you to get angry."

"That's my secret, Captain…" Banner said, glancing over his shoulder with a peace that was almost terrifying, his skin already beginning to take on a green hue. "I'm always angry."

They all watched as Banner turned, tripling in size as he morphed into the Hulk, throwing an incredible punch in one continuous motion that actually stopped the giant Chitauri in mid-flight. Hulk roared in triumph as the thing crumpled to the ground motionless, and Steve felt his confidence in their chances rise.

"Call it, Captain," Stark announced as he landed next to them, actually waiting on a plan.

Steve took one more look around, the strategy coming to him instantaneously, before he started barking orders. "Alright guys, listen up… until we can close the portal, our priority is containment. Barton, I want you on that roof, eyes on everything… call out patterns and strays. Bucky, get the corner opposite, you give us cover as long as Barton is occupied. Stark, you got the perimeter. Anything gets more than three blocks out, you turn it back or you turn it to ash."

The suit actually nodded at Steve, acknowledging orders before grabbing Barton by the back of his vest, launching the both of them to the roof Steve had initially pointed out.

"Thor," Steve continued, "you've gotta try and bottleneck that portal. Slow them down… you've got the lightning, light the bastards up."

Thor nodded in agreement, spinning his hammer and glancing at Bucky who simply gave him a resigned shrug before being whisked away as well.

Steve couldn't help watching until he knew that Buck was safe on his assigned rooftop before turning to Romanoff. "You and me, we stay here on the ground, keep the fighting here. And Hulk?" He asked, turning to the Hulk, who almost seemed as surprised by the command as Steve was by the fact that he acknowledged it. "Smash."

From there, chaos reigned. Although Romanoff was an incredible combatant, and Bucky and Clint were dropping the flying Chitauri coming through their area like flies, it was still taking all that they had to hold their position… and the Chitauri only continued coming in droves. Steve tried to listen as Barton called out suggestions to Hulk, Thor and Stark, and while they weren't _exactly_ getting their asses kicked, it was obvious that they hardly had the situation under control.

Steve glanced to the portal, his stomach sinking as at least four more of the huge ships made their way through it.

"Captain, none of this is gonna mean a damned thing if we don't close that portal." Romanoff pointed out tiredly, pushing herself off of the ground and looking up to where the Chitauri continued to pour out of the hole above Stark Tower.

"Well our biggest guns can't touch it…" Steve started, trying to think of any other option out loud.

"Maybe it's not about guns." Romanoff interrupted inscrutably, her eyes still locked on the tower.

Steve looked himself, trying to follow her train of thought… while he appreciated the idea of sending someone after it, they couldn't exactly lose Stark or Thor's abilities to it, and no one else would be able to get to it quickly enough. "If you wanna get up there you're gonna need a ride."

"I got a ride…" Romanoff answered immediately, walking away from him as she continued to track the Chitauri flying wildly around them. "I could use a boost, though."

Steve put her meaning together, and for a second wanted to laugh at the joke… but in the little bit of time he had been working with Agent Romanoff, he already knew her well enough to tell that she was being completely serious. He readied his shield, watching again as another set of Chitauri streaked above them, barely avoiding Bucky's shots. "You sure about this?" Steve asked skeptically.

"Yeah…" Romanoff muttered, clearly stealing herself, "it's gonna be fun."

Steve shook his head, talking quickly into his calm as Romanoff took a running start at him – "Buck, hold your fire…" then hoisted the shield up, so that Romanoff could use it as a springboard, flinging her a good twenty feet into the air; just enough that she was able to grab hold of the aircraft that screamed past, whisking her away.

The second that she was gone the Chitauri on the ground set in on Steve en masse, racing towards him as they apparently recognized that he was alone and outnumbered. He was able to fight a few off handedly, then knocked another one away with his shield, before someone dropped heavily next to him and a spray of bullets fanned out, mowing down the majority of the foot soldiers that had been advancing on him.

Bucky stood next to him, scowling for a moment before turning an all-too-familiar smirk on Steve. "Had 'em on the ropes, I know…"

"… did you just jump off the fuckin' building?" Steve asked, his voice strangled and his heart racing as he put together the events of the past few seconds.

"Only the last six stories," Bucky responded nonchalantly. "I reloaded when you gave your last order and noticed that Stark was getting all he wanted from a group of the grunts that had knocked him down three streets over, so I repelled into a better position and got them off his ass… then looked down and had a good feeling about the rest of the drop."

Steve gaped at him for a moment, but before he could even begin to think of a response his thoughts were interrupted. "Captain, the bank on 42nd past Madison," Barton called out through the coms, "they've cornered a lot of civilians in there."

"We're on it." Bucky responded for him. Steve ground his teeth together, still shaken up over his friend's stupidity, but took off for the bank Barton had mentioned at a run – they hardly had time to argue (dumbass, overly-risky, borderline-suicidal) battle tactics, now.

The situation inside the building was about as bad as it could be – at least eight Chitauri that they could count from outside, most of them on the second level of the bank while a huge group of defenseless humans remained trapped in the lobby of the main-level below. Steve jumped in through the window, drawing their attention to him – thankfully the idea worked, as four of them immediately set on him, fighting from close range. A few seconds into their scuffle Steve heard another window break, then thankfully the familiar sound of Bucky's rifle firing, counting off five shots before two of the Chitauri took him on at the same time, ripping his cowl free as they gained an advantage on him.

The alien let go of his arm just long enough for Steve to swing his shield at its neck, dropping it with the force he struck with. As he followed through on the swing Steve sensed something fly through the air just above him… then heard the other Chitauri he had been fighting fall heavily to the ground, a bullet hole dead in the center of its forehead. Steve glanced in Bucky's direction with a thankful smile.

"Nice shot…" he started, then picked up on an ominous beeping noise that was clearly picking up speed. They both turned towards it, finding one Chitauri left… Bucky took aim and fired, but not before the thing could throw the beeping device in its hand towards the crowd. Steve didn't need to be an expert in Alien technology to know that the thing was an explosive, and reacted on pure instinct, tucking the shield in close to his shoulder and diving off of the balcony, flinging himself directly at the bomb.

The shield easily took the force of the blast, but the impact sent him flying, smashing through one of the balcony windows and crashing in a heap on one of the cars still parked outside. Steve took a second to assess himself, the fact that he'd swore he'd heard Bucky screaming over the din of it all making him worried he might have taken a blow to the head, after all… but while he was winded and sore as hell, he was able to stand back up, which meant he'd be able to get back in the fight soon enough.

Shaking himself to clear his head, Steve looked around behind him, glad at least to see police leading the people who had been inside the bank away from the building. A few vaguely familiar faces seemed to stare back at him as they moved along with the crowd… but Steve couldn't tell if that was because they belonged to people he'd met in the past week, or because he was imagining it. Suddenly, someone jumped out of the second story window above him – although he landed as if the leap had been nothing, Bucky's eyes were wild as he scrambled to his feet.

"You stupid punk…" he growled lowly, shouldering his rifle for a moment as he grabbed at Steve's shoulders, looking him up and down as he checked for injuries. "Pull a stunt like that again and I'll shoot you myself, Stevie, I swear to fuckin' God…"

A plasma blast hit the wall behind them, sending a shower of concrete and announcing that another group of Chitauri were advancing on them. "Save the ammo for the aliens 'til they're gone…" Steve responded, turning and flinging his shield at the nearest group.

They stood side by side, holding their position long enough to be sure that the building behind them was emptied. Steve stole a quick glance over his shoulder, confirming that there weren't any civvies left in the area, before advancing into the middle of the street, hoping to be more effective by opening up the room to fight a bit. Bucky, of course, stayed directly on his back, and for an indeterminable amount of time he focused on nothing but fighting like hell, the sound of Bucky's guns firing the only thing outside of his shield and his fists that Steve allowed himself to pay any attention to.

So of course, he didn't miss the terrifying sound of an empty clip clicking uselessly, or Bucky's growl of frustration as he had to turn the gun over in his hands, swinging it by the barrel as if it were a bat. For a while it was an all-out brawl… thankfully the serum that each of them had gave both Steve and Bucky the strength and speed to hold their own against the Chitauri, despite the aliens' size and the fact that they still had functioning weapons. Steve handed his shield off to Bucky on the follow-through of swinging it into an attacking Chitauri's face, giving Bucky just enough time to swing it into position and protect the both of them from an oncoming plasma blast, reflecting the shot back at the grunt that had fired it before handing it back to Steve and pulling a tactical knife from his jacket, readying it as a pair of Chitauri charged at him on foot.

Steve turned his attention back to his front just in time to block a blast from another alien's gun, then set himself back to battling again, fighting back the seemingly endless onslaught as well as he could.

Things seemed to be going well enough until he heard a choked, "Dammit… _getoff_!" Steve looked over in time to see the Chitauri grab Bucky's head from behind, and threw his shield at the bastard as hard as he could while Bucky turned himself out of its course, leaving the Chitauri to get bowled over by the impact – but not before it's scaly hand had scrabbled at his ear, ripping the controller for his arm off. The prosthetic immediately fell heavy and motionless at his side, pulling him down as Bucky dove for the device. He grabbed it off of the ground and tried to hook it back behind his ear, although even from a distance Steve could tell that it had been badly crushed. "No… no, _shit_ … not now…" Bucky moaned, looking so panicked that it knocked the wind out of Steve.

A second later Steve was hit around the middle by another Chitauri, _actually_ knocking the wind out of him. He looked around frantically to see what had happened to Bucky, half-afraid that they were finally at the end of their rope, when another jolt of lighting hit the ground, knocking down all of the aliens surrounding them before Thor took their place.

The Asgardian looked down at Steve – kindly, but without pity at least… while it didn't do a lot for his pride, he had to admit that he was glad to see him. "Ready for another bout?" Thor boomed, extending a hand in Steve's direction.

"Why, you getting sleepy?" Steve asked sarcastically. Thor grinned as he helped him up, then turned and flung the hammer at an incoming Chitauri foot soldier. From the corner of his vision, Steve saw Bucky, left arm still hanging uselessly at his side, kick a dead Chitauri over and pull a small plasma gun off of him, hoisting it experimentally in his right hand.

"Buck," he said quietly, "Maybe you should…"

Bucky turned with a furious scowl, awkwardly pointing the alien gun and pulling the trigger… somehow managing to take out the Chitauri that had been coming up behind Steve without his noticing. "Shut the hell up, Rogers… I ain't quitting until something makes me."

Steve clenched his teeth, knowing better than to even try to argue with Bucky about his decision, then moved to his friend's left side, deciding if he couldn't get the idiot to stand down, he could at least give him cover on his defenseless side. Bucky pursed his lips, then turned so that he could better face Steve's back, firing the stolen Chitauri gun at anything that even looked like it might try to approach on Steve's six. Having Thor fighting with them at least made it a more even fight, but the longer that it dragged on, especially with the continued radio silence on Stark and Romanoff's parts, the more futile it began to feel.

"Guys… I'm in." Romanoff announced through their headsets, as if reading Steve's thoughts, and he almost wanted to cry with relief. "I can close the portal…"

"WAIT!" Stark shouted, his voice strained over the com. "I've got an inbound missile that's about to go nuclear, and I know just the place for it."

Steve was hardly going to argue against Stark's logic, and so went back to simply trying to hold their position, looking to the sky as frequently as possible in hope of seeing the suit fly over… while he appreciated the need to save the city, he wasn't sure how much longer they would last with more Chitauri troops pouring out of Loki's portal. Finally, he saw a streak of red tear through the sky, and paused in his fighting to watch as Stark flew directly into the center of the portal, disappearing from view. A couple of seconds later, all of the Chitauri seemed to drop simultaneously – even the floating monsters fell from the sky, going motionless and unresponsive on the streets. Stark must have used the bomb to destroy… whatever it was they had been deploying from, cutting off the life force of those who had already come through the portal.

They stood in surprise for a few moments, Bucky hesitatingly toeing at one of the fallen with his boot, as if to confirm that they really were dead, before all of them turned their attention to the portal, waiting for Stark to pass back through it. The seconds dragged on, and with them Steve felt worry setting in – Stark was definitely taking too long for things to be normal.

"I don't know how much longer I can hold it…" Romanoff radioed in, the strain clear in her voice from whatever it was she was trying to do to shut the Tesseract down.

"Close it." Steve said tiredly into his headset. He already felt guilty for the loss of Tony, despite their differences – but they could hardly leave the portal open. Even if they had eliminated the Chitauri force they had been facing, there was no way of knowing what still might be waiting on the other side of the portal.

There was a tense moment of silence between all of them, then a pulse of energy seemed to surround the top of Stark tower… before the beam of energy that had been flowing from the Tesseract puttered out, the hole in the sky shrinking around it. Just before it had closed completely, a familiar red and gold figure slipping through it.

"I'll be damned…" Steve muttered, a relieved smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

He sensed Bucky move so that they were standing together, watching as Stark continued his decent towards them, when Bucky spoke up. "He isn't slowing down… Stark? You copy?"

When the question was meant with radio silence Thor began swinging his hammer, apparently meaning to attempt a rescue flight (assuming he could get to Stark in time), but before he could take off an enormous green figure streaked between buildings, intercepting Stark as the Hulk leapt through the air before landing on a nearby bridge.

Steve, Bucky and Thor all ran to the two of them as quickly as possible, watching with no little concern as Hulk tore the faceplate off of Stark's suit. Tony's face remained motionless beneath it, disturbingly peaceful for how wound-up he usually looked. "Is he…" Steve started to ask, but before any of them could get closer the Hulk reared back, roaring horribly in Stark's face.

Tony woke with a startle, screaming back in response then panting heavily as he looked wildly around between the four of them. "WOAH! What just happened?" he asked, his voice clearly panicked. "Please tell me nobody kissed me…"

"Last thing on any of our minds, Stark, believe me." Bucky drawled, shaking his head as he shot a grin at Steve.

"We won," Steve murmured, still staring up at Buck as he answered Stark's question. He vaguely noticed Stark start rambling about… something again, but he missed the topic completely. Bucky's smile was infectious, and he found himself returning it, even as his chest felt like it was constricting. Because… they'd done it. Against all odds, they'd somehow come out on top. And even more than that – he was in New York with Bucky beside him, a little battered and bruised but _alive_ and together and dammit… they'd won.

It was exactly what they should have gotten in 1945, but for the first time since waking up, Steve could really let himself focus on something other than everything they had lost.

"We're not finished, yet." Thor spoke up, and Bucky immediately looked away, breaking the moment.

Steve nodded, feeling his ears heat up as if he'd been called out for something, and rose to his feet, knowing that Thor was right.

"And then shawarma after?" Stark whined, still trapped in his suit on the ground.

The trip to the penthouse of Stark Tower was thankfully quick – because of its power source, the electricity in the building was miraculously still on, meaning Steve, Bucky, Barton and Romanoff could take the ridiculously fast elevator to the top instead of relying on the other three to transport them. Loki was a mess, buried in a pile of rubble in the middle of the room when they walked in, and he thankfully surrendered easily as the entire team loomed ominously over him.

The rest of them milled around as Thor fastened the shackles on Loki, a heady mix of both exhaustion and residual adrenaline leaving them silent and restless. Steve watched as Bucky unbuttoned his coat, frowning as he crossed the room towards the bar, unhooking the straps to his prosthesis as he went. He dropped the powerless arm unceremoniously on the marble with a loud bang, his back still to the group, before turning to face them all with a smile that Steve could tell was clearly forced, nodding to where Thor had just sat his hammer on top of Loki's restraints.

"He's not goin' anywhere, then?"

Thor nodded, "The seidr on the shackles and muzzle will prevent him from performing any of his usual tricks, and no one but I am capable of moving Mjolnir."

"Alright, I dunno what half that means, but…" Bucky nodded, before looking at the rest of them expectantly. "Stark… you said something about food? I'm starvin' over here… I can't believe the rest of you aren't, too."

There was a beat of silence, before Stark laughed. "Yeah, schwarma joint, just a couple of blocks from here… shouldn't take more than 10 minutes to walk." Bucky was the first one to fall into step with him, making their way towards the elevator, and although their backs were to the rest of them Steve could tell he was beaming obnoxiously. "I _knew_ I liked you, Barnes… I'm telling you, drop by tomorrow, I'll have the R &D lab open again, we can build you the most advanced go-go gadget arm the world has ever dreamed of…"

Steve followed closely behind the both of them, trying his best to repress his feelings of unease over how Bucky was acting. Of course… one successful mission was hardly going to fix everything for the both of them – and it gave them something to work from. And if Bucky could get a new arm and a friend out of it… well, that'd be even better.


	10. Chapter 10: May-June 2012

The weeks following what was being hailed as "The Battle of New York" were… surprisingly uneventful. The following morning all of them had gathered at Central Park to see Thor off, giving a considerably less pleasant send-off to his prisoner. Stark had insisted that Bucky join him and Banner back at Stark tower, where they spent the better part of the day hashing out preliminary plans for his arm: Bucky listing his requests, Stark making ridiculous suggestions, and Banner chiming in with what would actually be feasible. In the end Bucky had been sent off with a pair of tiny phones (StarkPhones, Stark had bragged, before yammering on about the technology and how much better they apparently were than _EyePhones_ … Bucky missed most of it) so that both he and Steve could be easily contacted, as well as the promise that they'd have the mock-up for his new arm done in no time.

He woke around 0400 the following morning to the sound of his StarkPhone ringing – Stark, who apparently hadn't bothered to sleep, regretfully informed him that it would be a few weeks before he could begin on a working prototype… something about needing to contact a neurosurgeon and having a sports doctor look at the plans and other details that Bucky dozed off in the middle of attempting to listen to.

The odd interruptions from Stark at random hours continued, and in the meantime Bucky and Steve worked on settling in to their new, strange lives. At one point Agent Romanoff had stopped by their apartment, armed with Chinese takeaway and a tiny moleskin notebook, which she handed off to Steve. "It's a list of all of the restaurants around Manhattan that you boys need to try… food's changed a lot since your day, you're welcome in advance." She'd also set them up with some internet service called _Netflix_ , showed them how to search for movies and documentaries on it, and added a page of recommendations to Steve's notebook before leaving just as suddenly as she had arrived.

That encounter, though, had been nowhere near as surreal as the entire day they'd had to spend at the Veteran's Affairs office with Agent Hill, filling out countless forms and surveys before some poor little grunt in a suit had taken them into a cubicle, tried to explain compound interest and back-pay for soldiers who turned up after being declared MIA, and eventually handed the both of them sheets of paper describing how much the US Army was apparently paying them. Bucky, despite having always been good with numbers, was completely unable to comprehend _that_ many zeroes behind a dollar sign… and only felt marginally better looked at Steve's pale face as he stared blankly at his own sheet.

Hill told them on their way out that she'd be happy to have SHIELD financial planners talk to them about investing, which they both vaguely agreed to get back to her on. They'd both lived through the Depression of course, and read about multiple crashes during their time on ice… after discussing their options most of the night, they both decided to turn the offer down, and keep the fact that they'd ended up with fifty grand in cash stuffed under each of their mattresses to themselves.

Ten days after the attacks, Steve had finally gathered up the nerve to call Peggy, and had spent most of his night locked in his room on the landline, with Bucky puttering around in the living room – unable to sleep and trying his best to not eavesdrop on whatever was being said. Steve finally emerged just before dawn the next morning, eyes red and face pinched and exhausted, looking surprised to find Bucky seated on the couch watching Mythbusters. "I'm gonna take the train to DC tomorrow," he announced on the walk back from their morning run, having sprinted around Central Park until they were both panting and shaking from exertion. "Spend a few days visiting with Peg."

Bucky raised his eyebrows in surprise, before asking, "You want company?"

Steve shook his head emphatically, "Not this time, I think… I need to do this on my own, Buck." He paused outside the door of their apartment complex, key fob in hand. "Unless… you'll be alright here on your own?"

Bucky gave him his most confident smile, "I'll be fine… go sweep your girl off your feet, I'll hold down the fort here."

Which was how they'd ended up spending their first long weekend apart… Steve bidding him a quiet, nervous goodbye the next morning before slinging a knapsack over his shoulder and making his way out the door. Aside from a brief _Made it, no problems._ text a few hours later, Bucky heard nothing else from him. While it wasn't exactly surprising, Bucky couldn't really deny his disappointment.

By the end of his first night on his own Bucky was finding it hard to keep himself occupied, which was how he ended up wandering into Stark tower the following afternoon, awkwardly making his way past construction crews in the shell of a main lobby then heading up in the elevator to meet Stark in the same lab as they had worked in before. JARVIS announced when he had gotten to the appropriate floor that Stark was expecting Bucky (the AI was something that he was still getting used to, but at least it didn't startle him like it had the first couple of days) so he made his way down he glassed in hallway, opening the appropriate door then stopping in the doorway in surprise.

The interior of the lab itself still looked the same as Bucky had remembered it a couple of weeks prior, only it looked as if the Iron Man suit had turned it into a production line. Components of at least twenty of the suits were lying around the room – most in pieces, but one disturbingly fully-assembled and seated in the computer chair Dr. Banner had favored the last time Bucky had been there. He stepped a bit further into the room, looking around at the chaos, trying not to look _too_ overwhelmed, lest it give Stark ammunition to start in on him with. "Uh… Tony?" He called out, slowly making his way into the lab.

Stark popped up from beneath a desk in the corner, dark smudges under his eyes and his hair in disarray – it was clear that he hadn't seen a bed in a few days. Bucky knew the look all-too-well – he'd seen it every time he'd made the mistake of glancing in a mirror the first few months after Kreischberg. "I promise to build you the most advanced prosthetic the world has ever seen, and you walk into my lab wearing that hunk of junk again?" Stark asked peevishly, before Bucky could garner any further sympathy for him.

Bucky shrugged, slipping his leather jacket off and dropping it onto a chair _not_ occupied by robotic armor parts. "It's better than nothin', and it helps with the phantom pains…" He responded, refusing to apologize. While he wouldn't gripe at Stark about the amount of time it was taking to build something better, he was hardly going to apologize for not using what SHIELD had gifted him with in the meantime. "You said you needed measurements?" He added, hoping that it would work for changing the subject.

"Yeah," Stark responded immediately, standing and making his way across the room, already talking a mile a minute as he poured himself a drink from the carafe in the corner of the room. "Talked to my guy about our basic design plans, I want to get your dimensions and start building the prototype; just something to confirm that the design specs work, then we'll get to business on making the real thing. Vibranium isn't exactly easy to come by, so it's going to have to be a measure five times, cut once kind of deal."

"Vibranium… you mean like the shield?" Bucky asked, unable to hold back his surprised frown.

Stark shrugged, as if he wasn't promising one of the rarest and most expensive materials on the planet. "You said you wanted to be able to go into combat with it… nothing better for withstanding force, and as long as your bone and muscle tests add up to what I'm pretty positive they're going to, your body won't have any trouble supporting it. Anyway… pull your shirt off and get that damned Fischer Price model out of my sight, we can scan all of your basic measurements here and I'll show you what I have in mind so far."

Bucky shrugged in response, pulling his t-shirt over his head with only moderate difficulty then unfastening the straps for his prosthesis. He left it and the headset next to his jacket, before making his way across the room, waiting for Stark to indicate which of the hundreds of monitors he wanted him at.

"Alright, we'll just… Holy shit." Stark gaped, staring at Bucky with a surprise that made him feel horrifically uncomfortable. "What the hell have you and Rogers been doing the past week? Devouring oxen and lifting semis?"

Without thinking about it, Bucky crossed his right arm over his chest, staring Stark down as he spoke. "The hell are you talking about… we've tried a couple of restaurants Romanoff recommended and sparred at the gym. Why?"

"I mean… not to be weird, but have you looked at yourself?" Stark asked, reaching out hesitantly and poking Bucky's chest. "You were built, but not like this… Now you look like you're trying to give Cap a run for his money in the beefcake department."

Bucky frowned, looking down at himself in earnest. He hadn't paid much attention to his body since waking up, truth be told… he usually avoided looking as much as he could when he was in the shower, as the stump still made him uneasy – not just the fact that it was a reminder of what he'd lost, but also how perfectly it had healed, without a scar in sight… as if he'd never actually had it at all. But looking now, pointedly avoiding his left side, he had to admit that Stark had a point. He'd always had a lean boxer's build, well-muscled and obviously powerful but in a compact sort of way. Now, though, his chest was noticeably broader, and his right arm looked as if he really had spent the entirety of the past month lifting heavy things. He felt thicker through his torso as well, still well-toned but substantial enough that the waistband of his jeans cut into his sides slightly, while the legs were practically shrink-wrapped around his thighs.

"Huh…" Bucky murmured, "Guess that's why my clothes have been fitting so funny…"

Stark snorted, shaking his head and moving to a tower of monitors nearby. "Guess so…" he responded sarcastically, pulling a couple of scanners down from the wall. "At least it gives me more wiggle room in designing the arm… and a little less concern about the weight of it. If anything, bigger might be better – actually balance you out once you've reached Popeye proportions." He flipped a couple of switches on the monitors, before vaguely pointing to a spot in the ground at the center of them. "How much more did you plan on filling out? In case I need to start planning on a bigger order…"

"You actually saw the SHIELD data," Bucky responded begrudgingly, following as Stark had directed him, "All we got to find out was that we'd live. So… you tell me. My guess is it's just the serum reacting to the fact that I'm off rations for the first time in my life." He felt an uncomfortable rush of memories as Stark powered the monitors up, remembering the constant, gnawing hunger that he'd felt in the months after captivity, how tight his jacket felt by the end of the war despite how gaunt everyone else seemed… his mind unhelpfully supplied him with the image of himself as big as the Hulk, mindless and smashing shit, too massive for anyone to stop him.

His thoughts were thankfully cut off by Stark's dark mutterings, his enhanced hearing allowing him to pick up some unsavory cuss words followed by _Fury_. "From what I saw…" Stark began, shaking himself and sounding as blithe as ever, "your cell turn-over rate runs at about 80% capacity as Cap's does, so I would imagine your general metabolism does the same. Granted, he had the benefit of Dad's magic superhero microwave so that his physical changes were immediate, but like you said… it's probably just your cells getting used to finally having proper nutrition. I'm sure it'll reach a steady state eventually." He paused, checking the monitor one last time before moving away from Bucky with a small frown. "I'll email you the data after you leave, if you want to look it over yourself."

"Thanks, that'd be great," Bucky drawled, although his appreciation was sincere – even if he didn't understand a lot of it, it would be nice to have the opportunity to at least _try_ to learn what the hell had happened to his body after Zola's experiments.

Thankfully, Stark dropped the topic after telling JARVIS to send Bucky the information, instead focusing on the scanners as they worked their way around Bucky's right side, blue and green lights slowly scanning from his fingertips all the way to his pectoral muscle. It was weird, Bucky thought, expecting to feel some sort of heat or other sensation as the scanners hummed and spun – instead of nothing. They finally powered down, apparently having gotten what they needed, and Stark moved back to his screen, muttering to himself as he input the data.

"Got what you need?" Bucky asked, beginning to feel chilly and more than a little awkward as he stood in the middle of the room shirtless.

As an answer Stark waived his hands, an image projecting away from the screen so that a hologram of a full-sized arm glowed faintly in the air between them. Bucky stared at it, not even bothering to hide his fascination – the basic structure was contoured to look like a real arm, down to slight definition in the muscles, but the casing itself seemed to be made of small, interlocking pieces – nothing at all like the bulky limb he had been wearing. Stark moved his hands again, separating the image so that the casing hovered above what looked to be the guts of the thing. "Alright… here's my plan – we'll start by putting a rod into what's left of your humerus, so that we can use your actual shoulder joint as the anchor and give the thing natural range of motion. You'll need a bone scan ahead of time to make sure that your bones will be able to stand the force and the weight, but based on the tests SHIELD ran on you it shouldn't be an issue. Then there will be neurosensors that will act like real nerves, plug into your current nerves and run down directly into the engines in the forearm, so all of the control will remain internal. I'm also planning on adding pressure sensors in the plates of the hands, and pads on the fingers so you can use touch screens… eventually we'll figure out some type of synthskin so it's a little more stealth, but…"

Bucky shook his head, still staring at the images in front of him, before reaching out with his right hand, taking the image of the outer covering and turning it around to examine it. "It sounds perfect… how are you going to attach it? And what's the power source?"

Stark fell back into a lab chair near him, his usually confident air sliding a bit. "I'll put an arc reactor somewhere in the upper arm… plenty of power to make the thing punch as hard as you want, no risk of tissue damage or poisoning from it, and it'll last at least fifty years before you need to worry about replacing it with a new one – probably even longer." He sighed, tossing the guts to the arm away and staring at the casing as well. "The other bit… I still need to work out. Obviously it will need additional anchors to keep the metal in place, then a way to fuse it tight to your skin so nothing can get into it… I've got some people looking into our options."

Bucky had to bite his tongue to keep himself from asking how much it hurt Stark to admit he didn't know something… amusing as it was, he figured it would be best to spare the lip, especially given all of the work the man was already putting in for him. "Alright, well… no rush, I suppose," Bucky finally said instead, making his way back across the lab and slipping his prosthetic back on. "This'll do as long as there aren't any new aliens to fight, and it's not like Stevie and I don't have enough catching up to do to keep ourselves busy."

"Speaking of the good Captain… where is he?" Stark asked as Bucky pulled his t-shirt over his head.

"Took the train to DC a couple of days ago…" Bucky responded vaguely, wondering if he should be offended by Stark's question – it wasn't as if he needed Steve when he was out and about… the two of them were more than capable of doing things on their own.

"Ah… meeting with the President, I assume?" Stark asked sarcastically, his eyes still on the computer screen in front of him. "I'm sure he'd like nothing more than to pin a few dozen medals on him…"

Bucky snorted at that, "I don't doubt it, but he refuses to accept them until I get mine, too, so… no. Catching up with a friend."

Stark looked over at that, thankfully not prying any deeper into the friend bit (the last thing Bucky wanted to do was to talk about Peggy with him). "You both should head down there… it'd be good press, especially on the heels of the country realizing you're both alive because they caught you in the middle of saving New York."

"You give me something to show off and not look like a cripple in front of the whole country," Bucky responded, shrugging his jacket onto his shoulders, "and I'll get on it." He paused for just a second at the door of the lab, taking in again how awful Stark looked, and for a second considered mentioning it… it seemed ungrateful to simply demand the arm and then wander off while it was obvious that the poor guy was dealing with some shit, but ultimately he decided against it. God knew Bucky had enough issues to deal with himself, and it wasn't as if a guy appreciated someone pointing out that their battle fatigue was showing – soldier or not, he couldn't imagine Stark _wouldn't_ be offended. "Anyway… let me know when you need to see me again," he added awkwardly, before making his way to the elevator.

Although it wasn't exactly a surprise, Bucky still felt unsettled by the quiet hurt that Steve had been emanating for the two days since he'd returned from DC… he'd kept to himself mostly, rarely using more than a couple of words to answer anything Bucky said to him, and constantly playing melancholy Nat King Cole singles on the gramophone they had set up in the living room. He never once mentioned Peggy… although, to be fair, Bucky hadn't exactly had the stones to ask him about her, either.

Finally on the third day, while he was frying ham slices and waiting for Steve to get out of the shower after their morning run, Bucky came up with a plan, grinning to himself as he moved the meat onto pre-sliced bagels and plated them. "Let's go to a game," he announced, passing sliding Steve's breakfast sandwich across the kitchen counter before he'd even cleared the kitchen door. "Weather's been nice enough the few days, and I'm sure the Bums will be in town for a series… if not today, by the end of the week."

Way back when, baseball had always been an easy way to get Steve out of a funk – even when he was at his lowest, when his ma was sick and they were all quietly worrying how the hell he would survive on his own once she was gone… Bucky could save up a few days pay and talk him into going to Ebbets field. Between peanuts and box scores, it gave them at least a couple of hours to sit out in the sun and get away from all of the shit that was hanging over them; really, Bucky was embarrassed that he hadn't thought of it before now.

"I doubt Ebbets is still standing, Buck," Steve scoffed around an enormous bite of bagel, but Bucky was already moving to grab his laptop from the living room.

"Well… wherever they're playing now. As long as it ain't Yanks Stadium, who cares?"

The amused snort that he received from the kitchen was enough to raise Bucky's spirits, and he logged in as quickly as he could, typing "Dodgers Tickets" into the search bar.

"Probably gonna cost us a thousand bucks…" Steve murmured, moving closer and leaning against the counter as Bucky clicked on the first link.

"Good thing we're flush then, innit?" Bucky smirked. "And lookie there… they're home this afternoon against the Cardinals, whoever the hell that is." He'd already clicked on the link, grinning away… regardless of how high the ticket prices were (judging by how ridiculous charges were at the grocers he wouldn't be surprised if Steve was right), Bucky was confident that the afternoon would do them both enough good that it would be worth it.

Steve leaned over to watch as Bucky browsed for tickets, chewing obnoxiously in his ear, but Bucky found himself glad for the change after the distance that had stretched between them. "Dodgers Stadium," he murmured, pointing to the words across the top of the screen, "Real original, whoever picked that one out…"

Steve hummed in agreement, before pausing and leaning a little closer. "Hey Buck… hold on. It says the game is in Los Angeles…."

Bucky frowned, looking away from the seating chart on the screen. "What? No… I'm sure the schedule page said it was at home…"

"But that's an LA address, not Brooklyn." Steve responded, pointing to where the address was clearly listed underneath the stadium name.

Bucky clicked the link for the team's homepage, already feeling his stomach dropping as it loaded up… and there it was, plain as day across the top of the page. The _Los Angeles_ Dodgers. "What. The. Fuck."

"I could buy them, you know? If you want me to. Move them back to Brooklyn, I'm sure there's space for a park…"

Bucky had barely finished explaining the disappointment that had been having to settle on a Mets game when Stark made his offer – his initial response was to chuckle at how ridiculous the statement was, before he realized that Stark wasn't only perfectly capable of doing such a thing… he really might do it. "Ah… no, it's fine. Just a shitty way to find out, you know? The Mets were fine."

"Right… anyway, back to shop." Stark clapped his hands, turning around and grabbing something off of the desk behind him, then turning and presenting Bucky with a mock-up of the arm they had discussed. "This is just the casing for now, I'm still working out the mechanisms for articulation and whatnot, but I figured you should get a look, first."

Bucky was already reaching out for it, barely listening as Stark spoke. He used his right hand to gently bend the fingers on the prosthesis, marveling over the amount of motion they could achieve… even as a rough model of the casing, it was obvious that this arm would be far better than the one he was stuck with now.

"And also," Stark added smugly, clearly picking up on how happy Bucky was with the results, "Start talking about what kind of toys we're going to put on it."

"Toys?" Bucky asked, frowning as he pulled his eyes away from the mock-up.

"Sure… extenders, lasers in the fingertips for aiming sightlines…"

"No," Bucky responded immediately, rolling his eyes. "No, I just need a damned arm that works, not some freak show trick."

"Come _on_ , Buckster, live a little! It's 2012… Oh! I could put a repulsor in the palm!"

"No," Bucky responded again, tightly.

"No, hear me out, it would be great! You could use it to fly, too… we could use someone else on the team with ups, given we have no idea of knowing when Thor will be around…"

"I don't want damned lasers or repulsors or jetpacks or whatever other stupid shit you're thinking of," Bucky responded, a bit more harshly than he had initially intended. "Wouldn't do any good with just the one, anyway… I'd end up flying around in circles." The look of surprise on Stark's face only irritated Bucky further, so that he was grumbling on before he could stop himself. "Yeah, I know how physics work; me and Steve… we aren't actually stupid, y'know." Even to his own ears the words were petulant, but once he got going Bucky couldn't stop, remembering how much Stark had gotten Steve going as well. "Just cuz we didn't grow up with the kind of tech you guys are used to, and couldn't afford some big fancy college… I like to read and tinker with shit, and Steve's always been good at figuring stuff out."

Stark, at least, had the decency to look abashed for a second before opening his mouth. "I've never actually thought that either of you were stupid," he started, hastily adding, "Not as smart as me, of course, but who is?"

"Really? You rag on Steve enough that it feels a lot like it…"

"Oh please, that's all just fun for me, I only tease people if I like them. And it's not like getting knocked off of his pedestal is going to hurt Saint Rogers…"

"He ain't remotely close to being a saint, and neither of us are used to total strangers being funny with us outside of bullies and assholes, so try showing a little respect for a change, okay?"

Stark watched him for a second, his face inscrutable in a way that made Bucky oddly nervous, afraid that maybe he'd said too much. "Fine, I'll _try to_ lay off the Cap jokes." He finally said begrudgingly, before grabbing the arm and moving it back to the work bench. "Where is he, anyway? I figured he'd have stopped in by now… what's he doing while you're here?"

Bucky failed to see how that was any of Stark's business, but kept it to himself. "Helping with clean-up, most days," he answered instead, sincerely doubting that Stark didn't know as much, given how many trashy news sources had started covering it since they had recognized Steve amongst the volunteers.

"Of course, should have known…" Stark muttered under his breath.

Bucky decided to leave it alone, poking around on a laptop that Stark had left open for his use awhile simultaneously trying to think up an excuse to leave. He felt like he'd probably already given too much of his own feelings away for one day, and it wasn't as if Stark actually needed him around for the work, anyway.

"You know, he used to talk about him like he was a God…" Stark murmured a while later.

It took Bucky a couple of seconds to put together what the hell Stark was even talking about, or if it was supposed to be addressed to him. The man had an unnerving habit of chattering away to himself, or to the robots around the room. "Howard?" He finally asked quietly, unsurprised when Stark startled a bit at the response. "Cuz I mean… he's the one who made Steve that way."

"Yeah," Stark laughed, "I read some of the notes after he died, never realized Cap was so scrawny before… they don't exactly teach you that in the history books."

"There's a lot no one ever bothered to mention about Steve," Bucky responded tightly. "Never bothered trying to figure anything out about him, once he went to war… it's like the country just needed a face to rally around, so they blew his up and went with whatever character they wanted to put behind it."

Stark was surprisingly quiet about that… as soon as he'd said it, Bucky was afraid that he would have jumped on the bitterness behind the comment. Instead, they sat in awkward silence for a few more minutes before Stark interrupted it again. "He talked about you sometimes too, though. Dad, I mean… said you seemed to like hanging around the field labs when you had downtime."

Bucky shrugged, surprised to hear it… the way that Howard had ignored him during the war, he'd really figured that he hadn't noticed anyone outside of Steve and Peggy, not that Bucky could really blame him. And he _had_ enjoyed tinkering around in the weapons holds when Steve was busy with officer meetings… it was easy to get lost in them, a chance to hide from his worries and nightmares for a little while, without having to put a brave face on for the Howlies. "Your dad was a hell of a scientist," he finally ended up saying awkwardly. "We didn't exactly get along… didn't see eye-to-eye on much of anything, but… underneath all of it, Steve said he was a good guy."

"Yeah," Stark responded flatly. "You don't know the half of it."

Bucky was falling. It was cold and they were on Zola's train, and when Steve had scrabbled out the hole in the compartment he'd lost his grip, leaving them both to fall to their inevitable deaths. Only then Zola somehow managed to bring them back to life, and they woke up in 2012, only New York was now die Republik von Amerika and the entire world was united under the seal of Hydra, who happily gave Loki the throne when he arrived in return for his scepter, which they were about to force Bucky to use to kill Steve in the middle of Times Square…

He woke with a start, gasping for air as he sat up in bed and shivering as the sweat on his skin began to cool. After a second of convincing himself that none of it had been real, Bucky turned to glance at his alarm clock – it was a nice old twin-bell without any of the annoying glowy-bits that the future seemed to be so set on having, but Bucky's sight in the dark was more than adequate to make out the hands on its face: 0117. He blew out a long, low sigh, rubbing his face with his right hand as the annoying burning feeling set in on his missing left. He'd been able to sleep for a little more than two hours; better than he had been doing of late, at least, and the dream left him too unsettled to try to drift off again.

Bucky pushed himself out of bed, pulling on the pair of drawstring pants and cotton t-shirt that he had left draped over the footboard before he had crawled in, then padded his way out into the living room, deciding he could probably make a snack quietly and then settle in to read without waking Steve up. It turned out that he didn't need to worry… when he flipped on the lights in the kitchen he found Steve standing at the range in a pair of boxers and undershirt, a spatula raised in defense as he blinked stupidly in Bucky's direction.

"Couldn't sleep, either?" Bucky asked, not bothering to smother his amused smirk as he made his way to the ice box to get the milk out. While he didn't exactly like the idea of Steve having to deal with night terrors, he couldn't help the selfish bit of his mind that was glad for the company.

Steve shrugged, turning back to the skillet on the stove and flipping the flapjack that he'd been cooking, "Lot on my mind, I guess," he murmured, hedging the question… "You want me to throw some more batter together?"

Bucky shook his head – as good as flapjacks sounded, they really weren't worth the extra trouble. "I'm fine with eggs if we have enough left – just leave 'em out and I'll throw it together when you're done."

Of course, his suggestion didn't go over with Steve, who instead ended up splitting the cakes he'd already made between two plates, then piling them with scrambled eggs and bacon, which Bucky didn't even remember them having in the apartment. Ultimately, they ended up on the couch half an hour later, half-propped against each other as they ate their way through their breakfast food, a random documentary about the Civil War droning on the television. It wasn't the least bit interesting, but they had both agreed that it would be better to watch something that they knew… a decision that ended up being wise, given the fact that they both ended up nodding off not long after they'd cleaned their plates.

Steve startled them both awake some time later, awkwardly sitting up on the couch for a moment and blinking at the Netflix loading screen on the TV before jumping to his feet and collecting the dishes from the coffee table then disappearing into the kitchen. The clock on the wall read 0335, so Bucky stood as well, stretching for a moment and dreading the idea of climbing back into his bed, despite the fact that he knew they both needed more sleep. He hesitated for a moment, listening to the familiar sounds of Steve cleaning up in the kitchen, staring at the couch in deep thought. Finally, he muttered a quiet _fuck it_ , stalking quickly back to his bedroom where he yanked the blanket off of the bed then gathered up all of the pillows as well as he could under his arm, hauling them all awkwardly back to the living room.

The coffee table was light enough that it wasn't a problem moving with just the one arm, although the couch definitely made Bucky wish that Stark would hurry it up with the prosthetic. By the time that Steve appeared in the doorway to the living room, Bucky had cleared enough space in the center of the floor to throw the couch cushions down, and was in the middle of hauling the seat cushion out of the arm chair. Steve just stood and watched him, his confusion so obvious that Bucky didn't even need to look at his dumb face to know how he looked, but Bucky didn't bother acknowledging it until he'd dropped the cushion next to the others and started stacking his pillows to fill the space out.

Once everything was arranged to his liking, Bucky sank down to the floor, pulling his quilt up to his chin and finally glancing to where Steve was standing. "Get your skinny ass over here already, Stevie…" he sighed, reaching across his body and patting the empty space on his left with his right hand, "You already said you ain't been sleeping right, either."

Steve made a face like he was about to try arguing with Bucky, before he clearly thought better of it, taking a deep breath and padding across the room. He shook his head as he looked down at where Bucky had folded the blanket up for him, before kneeling down and situating himself in the pile of cushions. "There," Bucky said matter-of-factly, tossing the edge of the blanket over Steve once he'd finally stopped moving. "Was that so fuckin' hard?"

Steve chuckled lightly, although it sounded oddly strained, then turned his head to look at Bucky, his eyes bright and blue despite the shadows in the low light of the room. "Like old times, eh?"

"You know it," Bucky responded with a grin, remembering countless nights of the two of them curled up together on the floor of his parent's living room. "Hell of a lot more comfortable, though… and don't think for a second that I won't kick you awake if you start snoring."

Steve laughed earnestly at that, before turning on his side with a grin. "G'night, Buck."

"Night, Stevie." Bucky responded, closing his eyes and letting the sound of Steve's deep, even breaths lull him to sleep.

Bucky didn't wake the next morning until sunlight was peaking over the back of the couch and shining directly into his eyes. He was sore and disoriented for a few moments, trying to figure out where the hell he was, but as he turned his head against the crick in his neck Bucky saw Steve's peacefully sleeping face next to him, and remembered the events of the night before. He slowly sat up, doing his best not to jostle the cushions or the blanket enough to wake his bedmate, and finally glanced at the clock on the wall, shocked to realize that it was already nearly 1000.

Bucky was half-way to the kitchen when he heard Steve's pained groan, and he glanced back into the living room, smirking at Steve's sleepy glare as he stretched out on the floor. "That was the _worst_ idea your fathead has ever come up with, I swear Buck…"

Bucky laughed, feeling as good as he could remember – hell, since before he'd shipped out for London, probably. There was no heat at all in Steve's muttering voice, so he was all too happy to chirp back sweetly, "But you slept like a baby, din'tcha Stevie?"

"Shut up and put a pot of coffee on…" Steve muttered, the grin already spreading across his face as Bucky laughed and saluted him before doing just that.

Bucky hissed in pain as the doctor turned the dial higher, unable to keep his reaction to the sudden, strange feeling quiet. "And what does that one feel like?" Strange asked, sounding bored and impatient as he kept the dial where it was, watching the screen instead of Bucky.

"Like a real bad Charlie horse in my thumb…" Bucky responded with a frown, glaring at the electrode sticking out of the stump of his arm. How the _hell_ were they causing so much pain in parts that he didn't even have anymore…

"Good," Strange murmured, obviously without care for Bucky's discomfort. "Now imagine moving it to alleviate the pain…"

Bucky sucked in a deep breath – it was at least the twentieth time he'd gotten the same ridiculous instruction. For as much as Tony swore that this guy was the best brain surgeon in the world, he sure seemed like a quack to Bucky. Frowning, he tried his best to focus on the task at hand, and imagined extending his thumb out to relieve the cramp.

"Good." The doctor finally intoned, turning down the dial as Bucky exhaled in relief. "That was excellent news, Sergeant Barnes – the surgery should be relatively simple."

"What'd you find?" Bucky asked petulantly, glad that the tests had come out alright but still wholly confused as to why the hell they had done it in the first place – or what Strange had even been looking for.

"Your brachial plexus is wholly intact." Strange responded flippantly, beginning to peel the electrodes off of Bucky's arm with a clear air of distaste. Bucky wondered if he ever actually did anything like this with his normal patients, or just forced nurses to do all of the talking and touching. It wouldn't surprise him at all… What did surprise him, though, was when the doctor apparently put together Bucky's blank, silent stare in response to his words. "Ah… there's a large nerve bundle in your ax… your arm pit," he began, "which is responsible for all of the commands going from your brain to your arm for movement and sensation. Yours wasn't damaged in the accident or the surgery, so whenever Stark is able to finish the neural transmitters, we will be able to connect them to the plexus, rather than having to operate on your spinal cord or brain."

"Nice…" Tony said with a grin as he made his way into the room, a carrier full of cups full of murky green liquid in hand, "So we won't have to worry about paralysis or worse if there are mishaps during surgery…"

"There _won't_ be any mishaps during surgery," Strange responded tightly, his brows furrowing as he hastily shut down the monitors around him.

Bucky had to wonder how there was a room in the tower big enough for containing both of their egos.

They sniped back and forth at one another for a while longer, Strange giving backhanded compliments to Stark about the neuroreceptors that Tony had apparently finished, while Stark bragged about his _numerous_ doctorate degrees and poo-pooed on people who dared to specialize in just one area of hyper-intellectual science. Bucky played CandyCrush on his phone, wondering if either would even notice if he simply got up and went home. Before he could test the theory, Strange stiffly told Tony to contact him when the prosthesis was ready to be attached, and then stormed out of the room without even acknowledging Bucky.

"He's a prick," Tony said flippantly as soon as the elevator door had closed, "but I wouldn't trust anyone else to do the surgery… his abilities make up for his attitude."

"As long as you're sure," Bucky responded, biting the inside of his cheek to avoid saying anything else, such as how damned similar the two of them were.

"Positive," Stark said, glancing quickly at the data that Strange had left behind before making his way to another workbench, "Anyway, I wanted to show you what I had in mind for the skin interfacing…"

Bucky advanced on Steve again, grunting with exertion as he thrust the plastic knife they were sparring with towards Steve's side, only to have it batted away easily. He flipped it, changing his grip and coming back across his body, but Steve was able to sidestep away. They continued on for hours, Bucky actually getting a few hits in – while it was nothing compared to the number of times that Steve had either deflected or disarmed him, there was no doubt that Bucky was getting closer to matching him at hand-to-hand combat, a fact that made him almost giddy with excitement.

They paused for a water break, moving to the side of the ring as Bucky tossed the knife aside in favor of his water bottle – he hadn't bothered trying with the prosthetic, knowing that between the headset and the awkward way it tended to respond to quick commands that it would only be a burden. "You know," Steve panted between drinks, his lips quirking into a crooked smile, "I'm not so sure how I feel about you getting that new arm anymore…"

"Afraid it's gonna be back to old times?" Bucky asked teasingly, "With me having to go easy on _you_ again?"

"Try it," Steve laughed, "just remember that I can beat your ass now."

Bucky grinned, taking one final sip of water before moving back to the center of the ring… maybe it was weird, but the thought of the two of them being equals for a change was one that actually excited him. He knew, logically, that he would always worry about Steve – would always want to have his back, and picture him as his small, smart-mouthed friend who had a habit of getting into messes he couldn't get himself out of. But the idea that they could have this too, throw each other's weight around and unwind completely, sparring like no other humans were even capable of… it was a disturbingly heady thought.

They finally broke apart and made their way to the locker room a couple of hours later, sweaty and feeling just exhausted enough that they might actually be able to sleep properly. Bucky peeled his sweaty shirt off with some difficulty, the tight material clinging even worse to his skin now that it was wet. He moved to attach the prosthesis, before thinking better of it and simply pulling on his sweatshirt, jamming the arm in the bag and trying to ignore the awkward way that his empty sleeve flopped at his side. Much as he hated it, it was late enough that no one would be around to see anyway, and it beat the idea of trying to shimmy into clothes with both the awkward-fitting prosthetic and sweat-damp skin. He begrudgingly remembered Stark's comments about his physique, acknowledging that it was probably time to go out and buy some new clothes… his muscle mass was finally seeming to stabilize, and while they were still serviceable his clothes weren't exactly always comfortable on his knew, bulkier frame.

Bucky glanced across the locker room to where Steve had finished pulling on one of his own tiny t-shirts, the words dying on his lips as he watched the cotton stretch across his friend's broad chest and back. He was tired enough that the dirty, obtrusive little voice in his mind that he could usually repress made itself known in full-force, insisting that he just go out on his own, lest Steve get the idea that he needed bigger sizes as well and Bucky lost his free show.

"You alright?" Steve asked, pausing in the locker room doorway with a look of concern on his face.

"Fine," Bucky responded, snapping out of his daze with a bright smile, "just tired, is all…"

He'd ended up waiting until Steve was out with clean-up duty a few days later to wander out to the stores on his own.

"You know," Tony muttered, sparks flying momentarily as he finished shaping the plate that he was working on. "We still haven't figured out the most important part of this thing…"

Bucky frowned at the screen of his StarkPhone and went still, already dreading whatever stupid joke or suggestion Stark was going to make, before giving in and playing along. "What is that?" He asked, trying not to sound as if he was dreading whatever dumb shit Stark was about to answer with.

Stark paused what he was doing, flipping his mask up and turning to face Bucky with a dead-serious look on his face. "Your brand… we need to put some flash on this thing, after all."

Bucky just frowned at him, trying to figure out if he was being had or not.

"Seriously, have you put any thought into it? Replica of Cap's shield… kawaii little caricature of a Bucky Bear face?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, not bothering to justify either suggestion with any further response. He _had_ finally gotten around to Googling this _Bucky Bear_ thing that Tony kept bringing up, so he at least didn't have to give him the satisfaction of asking what he meant – but it was still mortifying enough to know that people had actually sold the damned things (and were apparently thinking of bringing them back, dammit) that he preferred to pretend he wasn't aware of them. Tony continued rambling about something, his mask coming back down and muffling out the majority of it down to a drone that Bucky could easily ignore, when the idea hit him. He hesitated for a moment, temporarily afraid of even mentioning it… but in the end entertaining stark was worth not being stuck with an Arc reactor permanently etched into his prosthetic.

"My wings." He said simply, refusing to look as he heard Tony's instrument power down. "My jacket, during the war… the left sleeve had a wing emblem on it. Put that up on the deltoid…"

Bucky glanced up to see Stark watching him, an odd smile on his face. "Sure…" he responded finally, "you want them in blue or white?"

"Blue would show up better," Bucky decided after a minute – Stark had no smartass response for it, and just like that they fell back into companionable silence.

"So… this should be done by the beginning of next week," Stark prompted an indeterminable amount of time later, powering his tools down again and turning in his chair to face Bucky, who simply hummed in acknowledgement. "I'll talk to Strange and Doctor McKenney about their schedules, but we should be able to have them attach it before week's end…"

"I'll clear my calendar," Bucky responded flippantly, still fiddling with his phone and trying to hide the nervous jolt he felt in his stomach over the announcement. "Can you show me how to switch ringtones on these things? I want to change Steve's to _Star-Spangled Man…_ "

Stark huffed a short laugh at that, shaking his head "Right, I'll have JARVIS figure out a time that works best for them and call you with the appointment." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between the two of them before he continued. "Have you given any thought to what you're doing after we've got you kitted up?"

Bucky shrugged at that, setting his phone aside and turning his attention to Tony. "We're gonna go on a road trip, Steve and I… I promised him in '41 that I'd take him to the Grand Canyon some day, and we figured we'd make a whole adventure out of it now that we can." Once again, he found himself rambling before he could really stop it – he and Steve tried to focus on the present and the things they had missed instead of talking about the past together, and it wasn't as if Bucky had anyone else to talk to. "I visited my Nan in Indiana when I was 13 before she died, and Steve had the USO tour around the country in '43, but otherwise neither of us ever really left Brooklyn, so…"

"I've got just the car for you," Tony interrupted, rising from his chair excitedly. "Might need a little work on the engine if it's going to make it all the way to California, but it's nothing I can't soup up before you go…"

"Naw… we already got a couple of Harleys, I just have to prove that I can drive the thing with a prosthetic and get a license," Bucky insisted. When Stark's face dropped, he added, "Besides… one of us would need to learn how to drive a car, first, it'd just delay us even further. We'll worry about that when we get back."

Stark sighed, "Fine. I can hardly argue against the idea of the two of you going for an Iron Ass award, I suppose…" Bucky didn't want to touch _that_ comment with a ten foot pole, so he let the topic drop. "But," Stark continued a second later, "I was actually talking about what you plan to do for good, now that you're about to have the world's best cybernetic arm and can get back to full ass-kicking commission…"

"Gotta talk to Fury," Bucky responded blithely. "He refuses to even discuss plans with us until August, wanted us to _acclimate and get our heads on straight_ , but I imagine we'll join up with SHIELD and do whatever they need us to do."

Stark paused at that, dropping back into his chair and fiddling with a random tool on the table. "That's it? You're both just going to run off and become SHIELD goons?"

Bucky shrugged, "Romanoff and Barton both seem to like it alright, and I've got no interest in going back into the Army."

"Who says you need to fight at all?" Tony asked.

Bucky snorted, "Please, Steve ain't gonna give up fighting evil as long as it's still in the world."

"That's his fight…"

"And I'm gonna have his back, same as I have our whole lives." Bucky insisted, not in the mood for philosophical arguments. "Besides… what else am I gonna do? There's a pretty limited job market for people with my skill set."

There was an uncomfortable second where Tony looked like he wanted to say something else… Bucky could only imagine how bad it was, if Stark was actually holding back with it, but in the end he gave a quick shake of his head and a smarmy smile. "You could model… Pep says the Vintage Hollywood style is about to make a comeback."

"Shut the hell up and finish the arm," Bucky shot back with a chuckle, hoping that his face wasn't as pink as it felt warm.

His eyelids felt impossibly heavy as Bucky tried to open them, blinking for a moment against the bright white of the room and trying to clear his groggy head. His mouth felt terribly dry, and for a second he panicked, imagining himself back in the hospital after thawing… or worse, back on Zola's table in Kreischberg.

The weird, uncomfortable heaviness on the left side of his body was what grounded him, and suddenly things started rushing back. Bucky frowned for a second, before deciding to raise both of his hands in front of his face… for the first time since waking up, it worked. His right one came into view palm down, looking the same as always – the left followed at the exact same time, light reflecting off of the polished metal in a way that was strangely beautiful. Bucky turned both of them out, so that his palms were facing away, then flexed and extended his fingers a couple of times – the articulations in the prosthetic moved fluidly and with no hesitation at all… he couldn't help sighing in relief, already confident that the surgery had been a success.

"Buck?"

He turned his head, vision still swimming a bit when he moved, to find Steve seated next to the bed, a book now closed in his lap and a wide grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Bucky did his best to smile back, although he still couldn't quite feel his face… Steve laughed, so he could only imagine what it looked like. "They were wondering how long it would be before you woke up, apparently you needed a lot more drugs than they had planned on to keep you knocked out during the surgery…"

Bucky vaguely recognized the words Steve was saying… or, at least, he knew they were English, and they were probably good words. His brain couldn't really process them properly at the moment; it was too busy working through the sensation of having proper feeling in his arm again, and taking in the sight of his best friend. The light of the recovery room lit up Steve's blonde hair and white t-shirt like he was a god damned angel, and Bucky was just with it enough to know that the last thing he should do at that moment was to open his mouth… he'd only end up saying something stupid, like rambling about how fuckin' beautiful Stevie was at that moment.

Pushing that thought as far out of his head as he could, Bucky reached his left hand out for Steve, the fingers wiggling a little as they extended past the railing of the hospital bed. Steve chuckled at the motion, but thankfully didn't hesitate, instead just reaching out and lacing their fingers together. As if it were a perfectly normal thing for two fellas to do, hold hands like that. "I gotta admit," Steve said quietly, "Stark did a hell of a job."

Bucky pulled their joined hands back toward himself, so that he could rest them on the bed. The sensation in his fingers were exactly as Stark had predicted they would be – a little bit blunted and without any temperature, like he was wearing heavy gloves, but… he could still feel the weight of Steve's hand in his own. "Mmm'yeah..." he murmured, his eyelids growing heavy again. "S'swell…"

With that, Bucky let himself drift back off, his mind going blank and peaceful as his brain registered the sensation of Steve's thumb rubbing gently over his knuckles.


	11. Chapter 11: June 2012

Bucky had been allowed to leave the medical floor in Stark Tower ("Avengers Tower," Tony insisted, swearing that he was in the process of rebranding it) the morning after his surgery, much to both his and Steve's relief. However, his release came with the absolute requirement that he begin performing the appropriate physical therapy regimen that the orthopaedist prescribed him when they followed-up at his mid-week appointment. Bucky initially dreaded the idea, afraid that it would be time-consuming and tedious sessions that would only set their trip back even longer… and made sure to hem and haw about it enough that no one doubted his displeasure.

When the doctor told him that the bones and metal had already fused together perfectly, and instructed him to a single organized session with a trained sports therapist followed by regular sparring sessions with Steve and target practice sessions with Clint Barton, the bellyaching quit immediately, much to Steve's relief and amusement.

It was almost frightening how quickly Bucky was able to adapt to the arm, it responded exactly as he needed it to, so that his reflexes when blocking and shooting moving targets were impeccable, but he also quickly worked out how to appropriately calibrate the power necessary to articulate the plates with appropriate force. He crowed in victory the first time he was able to throw Steve bodily across the ring at Goldie's… the rush of his newfound abilities totally worth the way that Steve tackled him in return.

When they weren't training or sparring, most of their free time went into planning out their road trip. They had immediately agreed on making sure to hit the water on every coast, and while Steve added stops along the route with his favorite historical battle sites (which Bucky teased him for incessantly, despite his own interest in each), Bucky set himself to scouring the internet for other, less traditional ideas as well.

They spent a handful of nights together around their tiny kitchen table, Bucky with his laptop and Steve switching between his Stark Pad and a US map, drawing out their intended route with a Sharpie.

"We should go to Disney World if we're going to be in Florida…" Bucky pointed out, not looking away from his screen.

"Disney World?" Steve asked, surprised to hear the suggestion.

"Yeah… giant theme park in Orlando, one part of it's based on all the Disney cartoons." Bucky glanced up when Steve made no reply, shrugging at the look of confusion on his face. "I told Barton the other day at the range about the movies we were watching… he was making suggestions and then pokin' fun at the idea of us watching cartoons, I explained how much you liked 'em in the theaters, so he recommended it."

Steve looked at the map, considering for a moment. "I guess… it could be interesting. And if we go down the East coast of the state then cut across we can hit it on the way to the Gulf of Mexico…"

"See? On the way," Bucky grinned, "now we've gotta go. And I wanna stop for a day in New Orleans, too…"

"New Orleans?" Steve couldn't think of a single time Bucky had ever mentioned the place.

"Jazz and voodoo, Stevie, we gotta…" At some point during the past month Bucky had discovered an old record shop that sold beat-up vintage vinyls for cheap, he'd loved music for as long as Steve had known him, of course, but now he seemed dead-set on hearing every type of popular music that had come out since they'd been in the ice… the recommendation suddenly made sense.

"Fine, I want to see the end Sherman's march in Savannah, then." Steve said, tracing the route with the cap of the marker before marking a dot on each of the cities – so far the only set plans they had were Gettysburg while on the way to Washington, DC.

"Sure… and we head south into Florida, we can hit Disney for a day, drive across the state the Gulf, and then head Northwest into Louisiana."

Steve considered the route Bucky had traced out with his finger, before nodding and removing the cap of the marker, inking it for good. Bucky was insistent that they head North into St. Louis from there, for the sole purpose of meeting up with Route 66 to head West – and as Steve read over the plan he agreed that it made as much sense as anything. The Grand Canyon, of course, had been the first spot they'd marked off, along with Los Angeles, a stretch along the California coast, and a couple of wilderness parks in the mountains… they'd both seemed concerned about how the other would take the camping suggestions, but quickly agreed that voluntarily getting out in the American wild, especially at a time of the year when the weather was actually supposed to be nice, was far enough from the Hell that had been Europe in the winter that it was worth exploring.

A few nights later, Steve traced the roads from Cooperstown back to Manhattan, before leaning back in his seat and considering their work with a smile. "Holy shit, I think we actually got it…" Bucky said with a grin, grabbing Steve's shoulders in an excited one-armed hug before they started listing out all of the supplies they needed to get ready to go.

Steve was beginning to think that getting their motorcycle licenses was going to be the hardest thing he had ever had to do… including enlisting. Both he and Bucky had passed their written tests with ease, and had put in the necessary number of practice hours on their permit… ridiculous, given how much of Europe Steve had covered by bike in 1944, but the state of New York wouldn't hear his argument against it. Next had been the road test, which the instructors had seemed to especially have it out for Bucky, forcing him to prove his dexterity and reaction speeds with his new arm before they would even see him get on his Harley.

The dream of the open road across the desert was the only thing that kept Steve from giving the instructor the what-for.

Finally, they had all of their requirements and paperwork in order… Agent Hill had helped them to track down original copies of their birth certificates and even made sure that they had up-to-date passports, a feat that Tony made seem more heroic than saving Manhattan from Chitauri. It meant that only one hurdle stood between them and the trip of their dreams…

As the clock turned over on their third hour of waiting at the DMV office and Bucky's knee bounced impatiently in the awful plastic chair next to him, Steve began to sincerely wonder if they would be able to overcome it. He pictured the views as they rode through the mountains, taking deep, calming breaths as the completely incomprehensible numbering system on the appointment board called up yet another ticket that was neither his nor Bucky's.

He imagined watching the Ocean roll past them on the California coast when the lady at the teller's window informed them that his forms – which he had filled out with the pencil the woman at the front desk had handed him for that very purpose – would need to be recopied in pen in order to be accepted, and asked him to sit down and wait to be called again.

All-in-all, Steve thought he was doing a damned good job of holding it together… until he began to overhear the worker speaking to Bucky at the window.

"… Sir, that would make you over ninety-five years old. I have no idea who made you think we'd accept these, but it's an obvious forgery. If you can't produce appropriate proof of ID, we can't give you a license – I'm sorry."

Steve actually saw red, and was at Bucky's side at the window before he knew what was happening. "We need to speak to your manager," He demanded, as calmly as possible given how tightly-wound he felt.

"Please don't get hostile," the man behind the glass responded with a bored sigh, pressing a button below himself as he attempted to stare Steve down, "the requirements pretty clearly state that you have to have valid ID to apply for a state license…"

"Do you have any idea who we are?" Bucky asked incredulously – it was a testament to how angry Steve was at that point that he didn't feel a lick of embarrassment over it. "That is my damned birth certificate and enlistment card… Stevie, hand yours over, even this idiot will know your name…"

"What seems to be the problem here?" An older woman asked, having appeared behind the DMV employee as Bucky was winding himself up.

The worker rolled his eyes, handing Bucky's papers over to her with a sneer. "This guy wants to apply for a motor cycle license… no idea how he got the permit approved, but take a look at his proof of identity…"

The manager gave him a quelling look, apparently unimpressed with the attitude… it was the only thing that kept Steve's nerves intact as she frowned and read the paperwork over, pausing as she read the crumbling birth certificate then studied Bucky's face closely. "Sir…" she asked Steve hesitantly, "I don't suppose I could see your paperwork, as well?"

Steve thrust his forms and birth certificate through the window in the glass, crossing his arms over his chest and taking slow, deep breaths as they waited for their answer. The color began draining out of her face as she looked over the birth certificate, before she pushed the worker aside and sat down at the desk herself.

"Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes… I can't apologize enough for the confusion, sirs… just give me a few moments to enter you into the system and we'll have your photos taken." The worker looked like he'd been smacked, his eyes going wide as he looked properly at Bucky. "And you can go on break…" she added dismissively over her shoulder, continuing to type furiously into the computer as the abashed man scurried away.

Steve and Bucky finally left the office twenty minutes later… IDs actually in-hand as the manager had insisted that she could print them automatically, to make up for the inconvenience. "Next time," Bucky said tightly, after they'd marched in angry silence for a good 10 blocks in an attempt to cool-down, "We're taking Hill up on her offer to have SHIELD take care of this bullshit for us."

Somehow, despite all of the time and meticulous effort that they had put into planning for the trip, they found themselves rushing to finish packing the night before. Steve poured over their lists of supplies, checking and double checking that everything was appropriately stored in saddlebags. "The bedrolls ended up in yours, right?" He asked distractedly, pausing with his pencil poised over the moleskin.

"Yeah," Bucky responded as he made his way out of his bedroom, "along with the StarkPad chargers and toiletries and tennis shoes and my share of the spare cash, same as when we checked an hour ago…"

Steve scowled and dug through his pack again, knowing that Bucky was laughing at him for being so anal but dreading the idea of them leaving something important behind. This was something they had been talking about for most of their lives, and God knew when they would have another chance to do anything similar again…

"Hey, come on…" Bucky sighed, making his way across the living room to where Steve was hunched over his bags and bumping him aside with his hips, "You're gonna end up finding a way to give yourself a damned ulcer, super-serum or not." Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Bucky barreled on ahead. "You've checked the bags twice that I've seen, if you forgot anything it's nothing that's so important that we can't buy it along the way. There will be stores in most of the places we're visiting, Stevie, and we've got plenty of money to use."

Steve sighed, knowing that he was right, and finally took his hands out of the saddlebag in front of him, zipping it decisively and setting his helmet on top. It had been a disappointment to find out that a few of the states they'd be passing through required motorcycle helmets, but when Bucky's griping about the law had caught Stark's attention he'd kitted them out with ones that played music and allowed them to radio back and forth between each other, so in the end it made for a fair trade.

"There we go…" Bucky grinned, before reaching into the paper bag he'd brought out with him, his look becoming bashful. "I, uh… gotcha something while I was out yesterday. For the trip."

"You didn't have to…" Steve started, uselessly, as a thick leather-bound book and package of pencils was thrust into his hands.

"I know, I just thought… I've barely seen you drawing since we've been back; seems like the perfect opportunity to get back into it."

Steve flipped through the book silently, taking in the heavy, smooth paper that filled it. "Thanks, Buck," He murmured, closing it with a nod and swallowing around the lump he felt forming in his throat, "We'll see if I still remember how…"

Bucky scoffed, before pulling the other item out of the bag. "Please, it'll be like riding a bike, 'specially good as you are. And don't mention it… just call it an early birthday present."

Steve laughed softly at that, remembering all of the times that Bucky'd gotten him exactly this gift for birthdays in the past… albeit of far lesser quality. "Little nicer than the year you stapled butcher's paper between moldy old pieces of cardboard…"

"Hey," Bucky chided, pausing as he opened the box he'd taken out of the bag and grinning as his cheeks turned pink, "I was ten years old and blew all my spare money on penny candy and pencils, that was an ingenious birthday present…"

Steve knew his grin was probably dopey as he laughed, shaking his head – Bucky was right, it was probably the best gift that he'd ever received, and not just because it was the first time he'd had a friend to get him a birthday present in the first place. "What's that, then?" He asked.

Bucky turned his attention back to the box, opening it properly and lifting out a camera. "My only hope of capturing things half as nice as you will."

Steve laughed at that, before shaking the sketchbook in Bucky's direction and then packing in gingerly into his bag, "I'll do my best to put it to good use."

"You'd better," Bucky warned him, grinning as he snapped a photo in Steve's direction without warning.

They'd made their way out of New York on 95, but quickly turned off in Pennsylvania, making it to Gettysburg by mid-morning. After stopping at the main visitor's center and picking up an official map, they decided to park the bikes and walk the touring trail, being fast enough to cover the miles of the old battlefield stations on foot. There obviously wasn't much left to see, but the majority of the land was green and rolling, and the important battle sites were well marked with interesting tidbits of information… there was plenty to hold both Steve and Bucky's attention for the afternoon, before finally agreeing that they'd seen all there was to see and jumping back on their bikes to make their way to the hotel they'd been instructed to stay at in DC.

They were up bright and early the next morning, showering and shaving and properly doing their hair up with pomade before changing into the awkward, tight dress uniforms that had been delivered to their room when they had checked in. Steve adjusted his jacket in the mirror behind their room door, before fiddling with the belt yet again, wishing that they'd been allowed to wear their old, familiar olives. At least he was usedto that brand of uncomfortable.

Bucky was pulling on his white gloves as he came up behind him, looking so right in the uniform that Steve couldn't help feeling jealous for a moment, but he forced a smile as Bucky handed his cap over, tucking his own beneath his arm. "Ready to go accept our proper recognition for saving the free world? Twice?"

Steve sighed, rolling his eyes at Buck's antics. "Ready as I'm going to be, anyway."

The ceremony itself actually wasn't terrible, once Steve's mind finally let go obsessing over the sheer number of press that they were stood in front of. He was used to crowds, of course, but seeing that many cameras and microphones was a different beast altogether. Bucky's face was plastered with what was probably the world's most charming grin, although Steve could sense the discomfort radiating off of him as well. "Thank God they don't all got flashbulbs at least, right?" Bucky whispered during a lull in the president's droning speech.

Once the speeches were finally over, President Ellis called Bucky to the podium first, pinning first the Purple Heart in recognition for his injuries sustained both in Kreischberg and in taking down the Valkyrie, followed by the Medal of Honor. Steve heard rumors that there had been whispers in congress that Buck should have gotten a DSC instead, but either the politicians had pulled their heads out of their asses in the nick of time or someone had pointed out the fact that Steve would never accept the higher award, when they both had taken on the same damned challenges.

Bucky accepted the honors with obvious pride, before saluting the President and making his way back to where Steve stood, giving him a tight smile as he returned to parade rest.

President Ellis called Steve up next, pinning the Medal of Honor to his jacket and thanking him for his service.

That bit finally over, they had to stand for photos, together and separately, with the President and the Joint Chiefs of Staff and God only knew how ever many other Generals were paraded onto the stage… Steve was exhausted by the time they finally wrapped, and could have cried with relief when the Press Secretary turned down the reporters requests for interviews, instead ushering them away from the podium for the formal reception.

Steve noticed how gray Bucky was looking as they walked along, trying not to think of how the Bucky he knew before the war probably would have been eating all the attention up. "You alright?" He murmured quietly, once he knew that their handlers were busy on their cell phones.

Bucky blew out a long, slow breath, giving Steve a stunned look. "D'you have to deal with that shit all the time before they let you into active duty? Cuz if that's the case, I don't blame you for storming the base anymore…"

Steve chuckled quietly, shaking his head as the doors to the reception hall opened in front of them before setting his shoulders and putting on his best Captain America smile. "Nah… it was never this bad before… just a couple more hours, though, and we're free."

"From your mouth to God's ears, buddy…" Bucky muttered, before changing his stance as well, putting on a face of pure charm as they were introduced to the crowd for mingling.

Bucky and Steve had excused themselves as soon as it was polite to do so, shaking hands with another smattering of politicians as they made their way out of the White House before hauling ass back to their hotel, desperate to change out of their dress blues.

"Highest honor in the land," Bucky said quietly as he boxed up his Medal of Honor, already unpinning the Purple Heart and whatever other medals he'd been awarded before they'd even arrived at the ceremony. "Means we never have to do that shit again, right?"

Steve scoffed, folding his pants so that the creases were sharp and hanging them on their hanger before following suit with prepping his own jacket. "I'd like to say yeah, but… who knows. I'm sure it ain't the last time they're going to ask us to come dance for the press."

Bucky groaned but didn't disagree, stacking his medal boxes on the desk before hanging his uniform up as well. "I need to get out for a while… see something without a crowd of people following us around," he muttered, zipping the garment bag closed once he'd finished moving his uniform into it. "Let's head over to Arlington… there's a Howlie's memorial, right? I'm shocked they didn't drag us out there for pictures, too…"

Steve nodded in agreement, glad that the World War II Memorial had been close and impressive enough to meet the press's desires. "We could, if you want to. Pretty sure the Metro runs to it, too, so we don't have to worry about the bikes."

He'd been right, thankfully, and they boarded a blue line train without any trouble, taking it to the Arlington Cemetery stop while Bucky looked up walking directions to the memorial on his StarkPhone. The walk was an easy enough one – the memorial had been set fairly close to the cemetery entrance, just off one of the main roads through the huge stretch of white headstones.

They both approached it slowly and in silence, waiting until the few people milling around had stepped away before actually stepping up to the structure. It was a large half-circle that had been set into the ground, with a huge copper imprint of their seal – the wing from Steve's helmet and Bucky's jacket – set in the center, and a tribute to each of the Commandoes fanning out around the outer edges. Each had a bronze cast of their faces, along with plaques that marked their date of birth and death underneath their images. Steve's, of course, was in the middle of them all, with Bucky's to his right and Dum-Dum's on his left.

There was an official-looking laminated sign taped down between their plaques, explaining the circumstances of Bucky and Steve's miraculous return from the dead and the plans to correct their information on the monument. Steve wanted to try to make a joke about how many people must have griped about it, especially considering the sign hadn't been present when he had visited a few weeks prior, but the look on Bucky's face as his eyes roamed over each of the images, his lips pursed and his right hand clenched in a tight fist, stopped the words in his throat.

Steve, of course, could sympathize with what he was feeling… He'd come by the memorial on his own when he'd come down to visit Peggy – a terrible idea, in retrospect, but at least it had allowed him to grieve already. He'd actually let himself break down in his hotel room that night, the only time he'd really done so since coming out of the ice… and if Steve knew Bucky, he knew his friend probably wouldn't allow himself the same relief as long as Steve was around to see it.

Steve clenched his teeth for a moment, looking around at the surrounding gravesites, trying to find something, anything that might be appropriate to take Bucky's mind off his pain, when his eyes caught on the house at the top of the hill. He cleared his throat softly before asking, "You ever hear the myth of why the military came to put their cemetery here in the first place?"

Bucky frowned, scrubbing at his face with his right hand before turning to Steve. "Nah… I just figured it was close to the Capital and had a hell of a view…"

"Well, that…" Steve conceded, before nodding at the mansion at the top of the hill, "but it also belonged to General Lee's family during the Civil War. The Union tricked them into foreclosure, bought up all the land, then decided to turn it into a giant cemetery for all of the Union soldiers who were dying, just to stick a thumb in his eye."

Bucky scoffed at that, turning away from the Howlie's monument to look up the hill. "You're serious?"

Steve shrugged, "I mean… 'swhat I read somewhere about it." He looked around contemplatively for a moment, before continuing. "I'm pretty sure they do a tour around the whole thing, if you wanna find out for sure. See some of the other important sites, too…"

Bucky took a deep breath, glancing back at the memorial to their closest friends one final time, before nodding decisively. "Yeah, what the hell. We're here, right?"

Between the circus of the medal ceremony and the pain of visiting Arlington, the day before had completely done Bucky in – although it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. They'd turned in early after grabbing dinner in the city, and some higher power had actually let him sleep through the night; if he'd had any awful dreams throughout it, Bucky didn't remember them for a change.

When he woke at dawn Steve was already sitting awake in the window of their room, and they both agreed that a quick run would do them both good – Bucky hadn't gotten a chance to really appreciate the monuments in the bustle of the day before, and Steve always felt better if he was able to get his blood flowing.

They needed to be in as good a mood as possible, having already agreed that they'd visit Peggy in the late morning.

Steve had explained Peg's situation while they'd been planning the trip – that her health had been failing and she'd had a couple of falls, so her family had agreed that it would be best if she moved into a care facility. Bucky hadn't really known what to say to that, especially as Steve had quietly and sadly droned on about how nice the place was, clearly hiding something that was bothering him. Bucky hadn't had the heart to try to draw it out of him. But when it had become obvious that they would be heading to DC early in their trip, he'd surprised Bucky by mentioning that Peggy had asked after him when Steve had visited, and that they really should stop and see her while they were there.

Bucky wasn't about to argue about it, so after they had cleaned up and had breakfast, they made their way into Northwest DC, stopping at what looked like an enormous, beautiful mansion that had been converted into a hospital.

"Let me just… I'll go in first, remind her we're here. She, uh… she has some trouble remembering things, sometimes." Steve told his shoes, pausing outside of the door of a room marked Carter.

"Don't worry about it, pal…" Bucky drawled, trying his best to lighten the mood. "I'm fine to wait out here… go make time with your girl."

Steve's smile didn't come close to reaching his eyes, and he sucked in a deep breath before knocking quietly on the door and making his way in, far too hesitantly for Bucky's liking. Bucky leaned against the wall as he waited, trying to pay attention to the TV that he had seen on in the common room so that he didn't end up accidentally eavesdropping on the conversation on the other side of the door. Finally, after at least an eternity of waiting, Steve made his way back into the hallway, his entire body deflating as he moved out of the sightline of the door. "You alright?" Bucky asked automatically, kicking himself at how stupid the question was.

"She's ready but wanted to talk to you alone," Steve answered, hopefully having missed the idiotic question altogether. "There's a coffee shop a couple blocks away, you want me to pick anything up for you?"

Bucky started to turn down the offer, when he decided better of it. "Just… a medium coffee is fine. Coupla sugars… or, whatever you end up getting."

Steve nodded, biting his lip and blinking a few times before making his way down the hall. Bucky watched him go, sighing to himself before standing straighter, knocking gently on the doorjamb with his right hand and jamming his left in his jacket pocket before making his way through the door with a bright smile.

Even though she was gray and thin, little more than a wisp of the incredible dame Bucky remembered, the woman seated by the window was easily recognizable as Peggy Carter. Her hair, although now completely gray, was arranged in familiar waves, and she looked at him with shrewd brown eyes that still held every bit of intimidating intelligence that Bucky had remembered.

"James Barnes," she said with a smile, her eyes misting over as she looked at him. She patted the empty chair sitting next to her, before chiding him, "Quit hovering around the door and come sit where an old woman can actually see you… I'm not dangerous."

Bucky laughed at that, shuffling his feet awkwardly for a second before crossing the room as instructed. "I dunno, Marge – dame like you asks to see me in private, guy like me can't help bein' worried that he's in for a whooping."

Peggy chuckled airily, shaking her head as he took his seat. "It's good to see you again, James… I told Steve that he should have brought you by earlier…"

"Well, can't exactly blame a fella for wanting to keep a dame like you to himself. Especially if it means keeping her away from a scoundrel like me…" Bucky joked. "I tried tellin' him you had no interest in my ugly mug, but you know Stevie."

"I do," Peggy laughed, before shaking her head sadly. "How is he, James? Really? Because he puts on a brave face and is cheery whenever he visits, but… Steve's never been a very good actor."

Bucky sighed, debating on how best to answer the question. He hardly wanted to burden Peggy with the shit that it was obvious they were both carrying, but he didn't necessarily want to lie, either. "He's… we're alright. There's a lot that we still have to get used to, but we're workin' on it."

"I didn't mean in terms of settling in to our weird future," Peggy chided him, "I meant… dealing with other things, considering most of his friends are gone and I'm not exactly the woman he seemed to be set on coming back to."

Bucky swallowed and glanced around the room for a moment, noticing the framed photographs on the nightstand beside Peggy's bed… He should have expected it, but still found himself shook by the image of Peggy in a wedding dress next to an unfamiliar man, then countless images of her and what were obviously her children… kids she should have had with Steve, if not for the damned mess they'd ended up in. He couldn't imagine how hard the room must have been for Steve to look around at, or how hard it must have been for Peggy, moving on with life for all of those years, certain that Steve was dead.

"I'm… God, Pegs, I'm so sorry," he finally choked, having no idea what else to say.

"You have nothing to apologize for, James," Peggy insisted quietly, reaching a thin hand across the space between them and resting it on his sleeve, apparently uncaring of the metal plates that appeared where the fabric ended.

"No, I do. For both of you… he shoulda come back to you, Peggy. I promised…"

Peggy frowned, "I asked you to keep him safe and to bring him home – you did what you could, and he's here now."

"Yeah, but you…"

"I lived an incredibly fulfilling life, James," she sighed, looking at the photos around the room with a soft, bittersweet smile. "I won't lie and say that I didn't miss Steve every day of it, because I did, but… I wouldn't trade it. The two of you, on the other hand – we owe an apology to youfor not having brought you back sooner."

"No one could have expected us to survive that, Peggy, and I've already heard how much money and time Howard put into looking."

Peggy smiled sadly, "Howard did that on his own, though, out of respect for Steve. Your country should have put in more of their own effort, for the both of you…"

"Yeah… well." Bucky responded, clearing his throat. "It's done now."

"It is. And James, I'm so glad you have each other, I can't..."

"It's alright, Peggy. I promise I'll look after him, alright?" Bucky swore hastily.

"Oh, Bucky… that was the last worry on my mind," she said with a watery laugh. "You should… things have changed so much since our youth, you know?"

Bucky frowned in confusion, trying to follow where it was that she was going with the conversation and hoping that it wasn't all a product of her dementia… he thought they'd been having a nice talk.

"I know that my mind is not what it used to be," Peggy continued shrewdly, as if she had read Bucky's thoughts, "but today is a very good day. I remember how you used to look at Steve, James. It was a look I'm sure I wore all too often as well, given how much it annoyed Colonel Phillips."

"He's been my best friend for as long as I can remember, Peggy," Bucky interrupted, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. "I love him like a brother, always have, but…"

"And don't think I missed the way that he looked at you in return," Peggy continued pointedly. "I won't lie and say that it didn't make me uneasy at times, but it's irrelevant now. The three of us are all that we have left, and I'm not much longer for this world."

"Don't talk like that," Bucky begged, even though he could tell by simply looking at her that it was the truth. "It ain't like that at all… he's only ever had eyes for you, y'know, and your tough enough that you'll probably still outlast us, serum and all."

Peggy scoffed and shook her head, "And here I was thinking that you were the practical one." She chided, raising a thin hand before continuing. "I didn't want to upset you, Bucky, that was my last intention… I'm not upset by it at all, and it's hardly as if I'm going to blow the whistle on the two of you, now. I just… I worry. You've both already lost so much; please see what you have in each other. Before it's too late…"

"I know that, Peggy," Bucky responded fervently, "we both do. It's… it's nothing like what I'd hoped for us, but we're makin' do, okay? We're good, we're happy, and I swear on my ma's grave I'll do whatever it takes to make Steve happy. There's nothin' in the world more important than that Peggy, you've gotta believe me…"

There was a quiet tap on the door that almost launched Bucky out of his seat in panic, and they both glanced up to see Steve standing sheepishly in the doorway. "Sorry if I'm interrupting, I can head out to the lobby if you want, just thought I'd bring these by while they're still hot…" he rambled softly.

Bucky watched him like a hawk, looking for any sign that Steve might have heard any of their conversation, while Peggy airily invited him in. Steve crossed the threshold to the room with a smile, his shoulders rounded so that he seemed smaller as he set the take-away tray of drinks on the desk next to Peggy's bed. "Americano for you," he said quietly, handing Bucky's coffee over, "and I hope Earl Grey's alright…" he continued, carefully holding a smaller cup out for Peggy.

"It's probably the usual shit brew, but God knows I've been in the States long enough to get used to it," Peggy joked, taking the cup from Steve's hand as he laughed and pulled up his own chair.

The conversation between the three of them after that was blessedly easy, with Peggy telling a couple of tales of the Commandoes that they had missed while the two of them told her of their plans for the road trip. They all carefully avoided talking about the events in New York, or what Bucky and Steve would be up to once they were sick of their motorcycles.

It became obvious as noon rolled around that Peggy was fading, her voice beginning to drift in and out and her memories seeming to become consistently more confused, so when an aide stopped by the room to bring her her lunch, Steve and Bucky excused themselves, promising to return in the near future.

Steve shrunk in on himself again as they made their way out of the building, clearly shaken by the entire experience – not that Bucky could blame him… he felt the same, and had nothing close to the connection to the obviously failing woman as his friend had. Still, as they stepped out into the sun, he leaned over, playfully bumping their shoulders together and giving Steve his best smile. He knew it was nothing close to what the poor guy needed at the moment, but at least he was rewarded with a familiar crooked smirk of thanks.

They spent the rest of the afternoon at the SHIELD office building in DC, where one of the secretaries helped to arrange shipment of their medals and dress blues back to New York for safe keeping and Fury refused to see them at all, except to gripe at them about being on vacation.

"On our way, sir," Bucky responded cheekily, although they kept good on their promise. As soon as the shipment details were finished, they made their way back to their hotel, packing up the few belongings they'd removed from their saddlebags then getting on the road to avoid the apparently hellish DC afternoon rush.

They crashed for the night in a cheap motel just outside of Richmond, Virginia, before waking with the sun the next morning and continuing their way down the East Coast, finally coming to a stop around noon in Savanna, Georgia. The place was disgustingly hot and muggy, worse even than DC had been, but so full of Civil War history that Steve couldn't help being excited.

They picked around the city for the afternoon, exploring the historical sites as Steve looked for any information that he could on General Sherman. When he complained about the lack of information that night in their hotel room, Bucky laughed at him outright, before chuckling, "They're not exactly hot on the victories of the Union in this part of the country, Stevie, I dunno what you were expecting…"

They took their time getting on the road in the morning, stopping for breakfast before pointing it South. Somehow, the weather was even more oppressive in Central Florida. Steve did his best to finger-comb his hair into place after pulling his helmet off, waiting by the bikes while Bucky spoke to the ticket agent outside the main entrance to the Disney World resort. He came shuffling back a few minutes later, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket and a heavy soak of sweat around the collar of his t-shirt.

"Alright," he said with a grin, patting the front pocket of his jacket, "we got two nights in the Art of Animation Resort, and tickets for both parks tomorrow… we've just gotta ride over to the hotel."

Steve had been more than happy to follow directions – the sun was at least bearable while they were riding. They parked and locked up the Harleys, then hauled all of their luggage into the hotel… Steve only spared the drawings on the walls a quick glance, but made a mental note to come back and appreciate them properly when he wasn't so damned sticky. Their room had a view of an enormous pool, with framed artwork all over the walls that was impressive, if unfamiliar.

"We have a lot of catching up to do, I think…" Bucky teased him, dropping his bags on the bed nearest the door and peeling out of his jacket, before pausing a moment and pulling his drenched t-shirt over his head as well. The air in the room was pleasantly chilly, so Steve didn't say anything about the fact that Bucky immediately pulled on a long-sleeved shirt in its place… he knew that Buck still wasn't exactly comfortable with the arm, although he did worry how the hell he would survive the heat the next day if he wasn't willing to go sleeveless.

Steve kept his concerns to himself, figuring he could bring them up the next morning if he had to, and changed as well, listening as Bucky flipped through the pamphlet he had gotten from the welcome center, yammering about the special passes he'd gotten to spare time tomorrow. Steve picked up one of the packets as well, sparing a quick glance at the tickets inside before nearly swallowing his tongue at the price listed.

"Bucky… there's no fuckin' way you spent a thousand dollars on one day in a theme park."

"Wha?" Bucky asked, his smile dropping off of his face as he looked at the packet Steve was holding. "Ah… no, I didn't spend that. I mean, that's the price for them normally, yeah, but… I didn't spend that."

Steve continued to glare at him, trying his best to calm down about the whole thing but still feeling worked up over the fact that anything would cost that much, whether Bucky actually put the money down or not.

"Look," Bucky sighed, "I got in there and saw the prices and knew you'd be like this, even though I know deep down you wanna go, so I asked them about military discounts, okay? And then while we were hagglin' about prices the manager came out, and apparently she's got family in New York and recognized me from all the press in DC, and long story short they gave it all to us as thanks, okay?"

Steve blinked in shock. "You mean… they just handed it over for free? All of it?"

"Yeah," Bucky answered defensively, "And look… I thought about turning it down for a second, but dammit you've been stuck on Disney since you were a kid, and who the hell would have ever thought someone would just hand us over a gift like that. So yeah, I said thanks and took it for free."

Steve gaped at him for just a moment, the reality of it all still sinking in, before closing his mouth and shrugging as he took a seat at the desk next to Bucky, grabbing up another one of the brochures. "Alright… alright, that's fair enough. So… what'd'you wanna see first?"

They'd ended up agreeing on The Magic Kingdom, and then sat around after dinner that night watching Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland, and Peter Pan in their room in an attempt to start catching up. He wasn't about to say it out loud, for fear that Bucky might actually make fun of him for the rest of their lives, but Steve couldn't quite help relating with Cinderella that night as he dozed off, his mind still trying to fathom how he ever could have imagined something like this otherwise.

Steve woke up early the next morning, not entirely surprised to see Bucky already awake and dressed – thankfully in a t-shirt and long cloth shorts. Steve got ready as well, dressing similarly in light of how hot the information packet had indicated the park could get… it felt a little weird, going out in so little clothing, but worth it after the taste of the humidity they'd gotten the day before.

"How nice would it have been to be able to get away with wearing something like this to Coney Island, huh?" He asked lightly, drawing Bucky's attention away from where he'd been looking longingly at his jacket before leading them out to find breakfast in the hotel.

The park – while not as familiar as Steve might have hoped – was still pretty incredible, and it took no time at all for the two of them to get wrapped up in the sights. The big moment for Steve, though, came after they'd checked out Cinderella's castle, walking out and practically bumping in to the real-life version of Snow White.

"Buck…" he whispered in wonder, not caring a lick that he was a grown man staring at someone dressed like a cartoon. He tried to remember how many times they'd snuck into the Pitkin to watch it when it had come out in '37, ignoring the fact that it was a kid's story because of how incredible the artwork had been, and how easily he'd gotten drawn into it.

They were still debating over which cartoon had been the best to see in theaters while waiting in line for the bus to Epcot, Bucky swearing up and down that Jiminy Cricket was better than all of the seven Dwarfs, combined, when his voice suddenly cut off, leaving Steve to laugh and continue his argument in Dopey's favor (even though he knew Bucky was right). Steve looked over questioningly at the abrupt silence, frowning when he saw the look of surprise on Bucky's face before following his sightline towards the ground between them.

A tiny girl with blonde curls had somehow wormed her way next to Bucky's left side and held his pinky finger in her right hand, studying it with a look of intense concentration. For a few seconds none of them moved, before Bucky slowly rotated his palm up, the plates articulating quietly as they gently shifted into place. She continued to hold on, so he slowly wiggled his other four fingers, drawing a giggle out of the child before she turned wide, grinning blue eyes up at him.

Bucky gave her an awkward smile in return, although it slowly turned into one of his warm, genuine ones as he looked at her more closely. Watching the interaction between the two of them drew Steve to the same realization – the girl's left arm stopped just below the elbow as she used it to point at Bucky.

"Melody!" A woman behind them exclaimed, swooping in and gathering the girl in her arms with an obvious mixture of both relief and anger. "You know better than to run off like that… I told you back at the hotel…" She sighed, hugging her daughter tight before turning to Bucky. "I'm sorry about that… she knows not to bother strangers, too, but… we've had her working with an OT, trying to get her to use a prosthetic, and… I guess she's never seen one so advanced."

"Ah…" Bucky shrugged, his smile shy this time as he rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand. "It's alright, really, she wasn't a bother."

The mother apologized again, anyway, thanking Bucky for his understanding, before carting the little girl off. Steve kept quiet as Bucky looked at his left hand after she'd left, before launching back into their interrupted debate.

The fact that he didn't hide his hand in his pocket again for the rest of the day, though, definitely didn't escape Steve's notice.

They'd stayed at Epcot until close, wandering around Future World without shame, and fell into bed immediately when they had made it back to the resort. The next morning they were up with the sun, leaving North and then West so that they arrived in New Orleans by late afternoon. After agreeing on a hotel (Steve refused to stay in a place that actually advertised that it was haunted, whether Andrew Jackson had stayed there or not). They found a small, dimly-lit bar near the French Quarter that promised both excellent gumbo and a live jazz band, and neither turned out to be disappointed by either offering.

The next day was spent wandering – Steve finding himself more and more impressed with the architecture of the city, particularly the churches (he wished he'd have thought to read up on it before they'd left), while Bucky pulled them into jazz bar after jazz bar. Steve chuckled quietly as he sketched a rough drawing of the view across the street, his eyes drifting back and forth between the impressive wrought-iron balconies and the excited tap of Bucky's foot as he watched the bassist of the band pick away at a solo. Steve had a good feeling they would be listening to alot of Creole jazz when they got back to New York, but had no problem with the idea.

After staying out late that night on a ridiculous ghost tour around the old city – they'd both laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea, but it hadbeen an interesting way to learn about the history of the place, weird as it all was, they decided to take their time leaving the next morning, stopping for beignets and chicory coffee before heading North.

They stopped in St. Louis for just long enough to check out the Arch, before getting onto Route 66. From there it was just a matter of continuing West, keeping their eyes out for random roadside stops to explore, stopping when they were hungry or the Harleys needed gas or the view was just too pretty to continue flying past. They stopped to sleep in Tulsa, then again in Albuquerque when Bucky pointed out that there was no rush in getting to the Grand Canyon after dark, and that the sunrise in the mountains would be worth the wait.

He hadn't been wrong at all – both had grabbed a pre-dawn coffee and made their way to an overlook, sipping their coffee in silent wonder as the sun lit up the sky. Once their cups were drained and the sun was properly in the sky, they set out again, pushing a bit harder with the goal of making it in time to actually go for a hike in the Canyon before dark.

As soon as they turned North off of Route 66, Bucky took the lead, racing towards the Grand Canyon National Park like a man on a mission. Steve didn't even bother radioing ahead as they blew past the main park entrance, sensing that something was already on Buck's mind.

Bucky turned off of the park road at the first look-out point, parking the Harley in a lot that was blessedly empty and dropping his helmet carelessly onto the seat before marching towards the edge of the point, dropping to his butt like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Steve gave him a second to himself, parking his own bike and stowing their helmets properly, before slowly making his way to where Bucky still sat, motionless. The view was incredible – Steve had known, of course, that the Grand Canyon would be beautiful, but as he looked out over the huge stretch of rock structures, seeing the vast drop and how wide the entire thing spread, he still felt a rush of wonder. It was so, so much more than he would have imagined, and he folded his legs underneath himself so that he was sitting too, before resting his hand gently on Bucky's shoulder.

"You alright?" Steve murmured quietly, noticing the tight line of Bucky's lips and the way that his nostrils were flared, as if he was trying to fight down a terrible surge of emotion. Distantly, Steve remembered all of the dark, cold nights in their drafty apartment, his own lungs rattling and fevers racking his body… hearing Bucky promise they'd see the Grand Canyon one day if he just hurried up and got well again, dammit. He could imagine him giving himself the same speech while locked up in Kreischberg… could practically hear Bucky's voice bragging to the other Howlies over sad, damp campfires about the trip he'd make when they finally got to back home to the States.

Steve wasn't exactly surprised to realize that his own eyes were wet, too.

Finally, Bucky turned to him, biting his lip before murmuring, "Yeah."

Steve cleared his throat, unable to take his eyes off of Bucky, even to look out over the view again. "Everything you imagined, then?" He heard himself ask.

It took Bucky a while to answer, his eyes scanning Steve's face as he swallowed thickly. There was… something that Steve couldn't exactly explain, something in Bucky's eyes that were drawing him closer, telling him this was some enormous moment for the both of them. Finally, Bucky cleared his throat, blinking and then looking back out over the view in front of them. "It is, Stevie," he whispered with a nod, "it really is."


	12. Chapter 12: July 2012

The craziest thing about Los Angeles, Steve determined within an hour of their arrival, was the horror that was the media there. A group of photographers had been waiting outside of the hotel across the street when they had parked their bikes and checked in for a couple of days, and another swarm that seemed to appear out of nowhere when they sat down for a late dinner at a café a few blocks away. In fact, it seemed like whatever he and Bucky did, there would inevitably follow the click of a camera shutter and someone calling out for Cap and Bucky.

"Fucking vultures," Bucky muttered as they made their way through the lobby the next morning after being followed on their run.

Steve nodded in agreement, making his way towards the stairs – they'd had to cut the run short, being unfamiliar with the area and sick of having attention drawn to them, so he figured running up the thirty or so flights to their floor would help burn some of the annoyance off. "I can't even figure out what the hell they'd need that many pictures of us for… it's not like we were doing anything noteworthy…"

They went so far as to call down to the concierge desk to ask how to avoid the crush that was gathering outside the hotel entrance when they were ready to go out for the afternoon, and were mercifully escorted out a back entrance to a waiting town car by hotel security.

"So… we're officially big wigs now, right?" Bucky asked sarcastically as Steve rolled his eyes and asked the driver to just take them to Dodger's stadium.

The stands were enormous – Steve figured that he probably shouldn't have been surprised, given how big everything seemed to be now, but he still couldn't help feeling a little bit awed as they pulled to a stop in front of the stadium. It was nothing at all like what he remembered Ebbets to be, and he couldn't decide whether he was glad for it or not. While too many similarities probably would have made the whole thing a little depressing, the idea that something he'd loved so much before could now feel so familiar wasn't exactly happy, either.

"Did you get a chance to read up on rules beforehand?" He asked Bucky while waiting in line for tickets.

"Rules? Who'd want to change baseball?" Bucky asked incredulously before handing over cash for their tickets, completely ignoring Steve's attempt to buy his own.

There was a bit of trouble making their way into the park when Bucky's arm dry off the security alarms at the ticket carousel, but as soon as the security guards recognized who the two of them were they were passed through without any trouble. Since it was still nearly an hour before game time, they decided to wander around the concourses, taking in the sights and sounds and trying to find familiar concessions.

Bucky whipped his head around so fast when they passed the clubhouse store that Steve was half-afraid he'd broke his neck, then almost tripped over himself pulling Steve into the store to buy them both familiar blue caps with a stylized "B" embroidered on them. He flat-out refused to let Steve pay for his, shouldering him out of the way when he got out his wallet, so Steve ended up strong-arming himself in front of him in line for concessions, dead-set on paying for all of whatever they bought. He knew that Bucky would probably argue against it, but he wouldn't budge on his decision… for the first time in his life Steve could actually buy shit for his best friend, and damned if he wasn't going to take advantage of it for a change.

They were almost to the front of the line when a nervous-looking young man in a suit approached them, stammering the words "Captain Rogers, sir," at least a dozen times as he welcomed them on behalf of the Dodgers organization, then asked if he and "Sergeant Barnes" would join them in the dugout before the game and throw out the first pitch.

Bucky, the asshole, accepted for the both of them, giving Steve a shit-eating grin as they followed the PR staff back out into the concourse, then down an elevator towards the team clubhouse. They were each handed jerseys in the dugout, then left alone for a bit as the team made their way onto the field to warm-up and the PR staff finally found other pre-game preparations to busy themselves with. Steve stared at the jersey in his hands in wonder… it was the same as the uniform that the team was wearing, unnumbered on the back but with the name "ROGERS" stitched across the shoulders. Next to him, Bucky was already shrugging his "BARNES" jersey on over the blue Henley that he was wearing, grinning like a loon as he began buttoning it up.

"Can you even imagine the look on the MacCarthy brother's faces if they saw us putting on honest-to-God Bums jerseys?" He asked, his eyes crinkling with mirth at the thought.

Steve remembered all of the times the boys in question had begrudgingly let him join in games of stickball… only because they had wanted Bucky on their team, of course, and because he made a habit of refusing to play with anyone who wouldn't let his best pal join them. Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat, forcing a grin onto his face and finally shrugging his jersey on over his t-shirt. "Probably swallow their tongues and die of envy on the spot," he said quietly, shaking his head as Bucky laughed in response.

Even ignoring the time they had spent in the ice, it had been at least five years since Steve had thrown anything other than his shield around – so he was more than a little nervous as he made his way out onto the field, the crowd screaming deafeningly loud as the announcer droned on about his accomplishments in Europe and the battle of New York then finally introduced him as Captain America, while the organist for the park played a rendition of Star Spangled Man with a Plan. Steve waved and smiled before lobbing a reasonably decent fast-ball to the Dodgers catcher… it ended up over the plate, and it wasn't so hard that it injured the poor guy, so he called it a win. He gave one final salute to the crowd as they continued to scream before jogging off of the field, shaking his head at the dopey way Bucky was grinning while he apparently filmed it all on his StarkPhone.

The team, of course, refunded their tickets and insisted that they take a pair of VIP seats behind home plate, a gift in commemoration of their service. While they accepted graciously, Steve couldn't help nodding along in bitter commiseration as Bucky grumbled about the way that people were so willing to throw free things at them now that they were rich, but had never given them a break all of the years that they were poor. While part of Steve wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt, he was willing to bet that the same was true even now and kept the thoughts quiet.

It turned out that a lot seemed to have changed about the game, but it was still familiar enough to be enjoyable. Steve kept track of the player's stats as best as he could on the scorecard inside the program. It was more difficult than he'd remembered – with the speed of the game having changed and the players being completely unfamiliar, but he still found himself smiling easily and jumping up to cheer when the Dodger's third basemen hit a two-run shot in the bottom of the fourth.

To both of their surprise, Bucky's phone alerts started going off in the sixth, and after ignoring the first five of them Steve finally looked away from the field. "Just check them…"

"I don't even know who it would be," Bucky responded indifferently, keeping his eyes locked on the field, "not like we're supposed to be called in for anything for another five weeks…"

The text alert on his phone chimed again.

"My God, Buck… you ain't gonna miss anything in the fifteen seconds it takes to see who it is."

Bucky frowned and dug his StarkPhone out of his pocket, flipping through the text screens as the Dodger's pitcher struck out his batter to end the inning.

"It's Tony," Bucky said neutrally. "He saw that we're in LA, wants us to stay at his place in Malibu tonight. Says he's unspeakably hurt that we'd stay at a hotel when we're in his neck of the woods."

Steve frowned, "I didn't even know he had a place in California. How the hell were we supposed to know that?"

Bucky shrugged, beginning to type a message back on his phone.

"Is he going to be there?" Steve asked pointedly. He didn't exactly dislike Stark… at least nowhere near as much as he had when he'd first met him, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to spend an evening with him. After all, this was supposed to be his time with Bucky…

"I dunno," Bucky responded, "I'd guess so." He looked up from the screen, "Wha'd'you want me to tell him?"

"Our hotel's perfectly fine," Steve responded simply, looking out on the field as the opposing pitcher warmed up.

Bucky was quiet for a couple of seconds, too quiet, before speaking up. "I dunno… I mean, I know the hotel is fine, I don't have a problem with the hotel, but… he says he wants to show me something. And… I dunno, Steve, it wouldn't hurt to spend a night with him. I think he could use a friend."

Steve didn't bother trying to mask his skepticism as he eyed Bucky disbelievingly, but Bucky didn't budge at all, holding Steve's gaze with serious, pleading eyes.

"Fine," Steve finally huffed, turning his attention back to the game. "But just for tonight… and if he's a complete asshole I'm going back to the hotel."

There was an impressive gate with an armed guard waiting at the address that Tony had texted Bucky, because of course there was. Steve approached slowly, well aware of how two unknown men on dirty Harleys might look rolling up into a neighborhood like this, cutting his engine and pulling his helmet off with a pleasant smile as the guard stepped out of his booth.

The man's eyes flicked between Steve, then seemed to catch for a moment on Bucky behind him (Steve realized, belatedly, that Buck hadn't bothered with gloves in the heat… doubtlessly it was the metal hand that threw him off), then settled on Steve again, widening in recognition. "Uh… Mr. Stark invited us…" Steve started awkwardly.

"Of course, Captain Rogers… he told me to expect you, come right on in… welcome to Point Dume, Sergeant Barnes."

The guard opened the gate immediately, waiving awkwardly as Steve and Bucky both rode up the long, winding driveway, which finally opened up to a frankly ridiculous structure. "Is this for real?" Steve heard Bucky scoff in his headset, the both of them pulling up next to a line of heinously expensive-looking cars and parking the bikes.

"I mean," Steve responded as he pulled off his helmet, giving Bucky a rueful look, "you can't say you're surprised…"

The front door to the enormous mansion opened, and an unfamiliar version of the Iron Man suit made its way towards them, stopping a few feet from where they had parked the Harleys. "Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes," a canned-sounding voice stated, "Mr. Stark says welcome… he's waiting for you in the basement lab."

"He's automating the suits?" Bucky whispered, the look on his face as alarmed as Steve was feeling. "It's only been a coupla weeks since we left… how is he already automating the suits?"

Steve shook his head, shouldering his knapsack and gathering the saddlebags off of his bike before following the thing into the house, already beginning to regret their decision to take up Stark's offer. As soon as they were inside the giant vestibule, the suit closed the door behind them and held its arms out while the disembodied voice of JARVIS greeted them. "Good afternoon, sirs. The Mark 29 here will take your belongings to your rooms for you, and I shall guide you to where Mr. Stark is waiting."

"Sure, why not…" Steve responded skeptically, handing his bags over to the suit with more than a little anxiety before following JARVIS's instructions to a small elevator near the back of the house. He and Bucky made their way down a level, stepping out into a lab that was even larger than the one Stark had invited them to for his final check on Bucky's arm… and at the moment, seemed to be actually covered in Iron Man suits of varying states of completion.

"Ah… Captain Dorito and Sergeant Roboto," Stark announced cheerily from the opposite side of the room, stepping out from behind a bank of computers. "Welcome to my humble abode…"

"I'm a cyborg, Tony, not a robot…" Bucky muttered – Steve was still busy trying to work out what the hell a Dorito was.

"Touché, Buckarino, touché," Stark responded with a grin. As Steve looked him over, the entire situation actually managed to become more alarming – it was clear that his clothes were rumpled, and the bags under his dark eyes made it look as if he hadn't slept in days. "So how's the Great American Road trip going? Saw your pitch at the Dodgers game, Cap… I'm disappointed you guys didn't have it in you to call me."

"We had no way of knowing you were in California," Steve responded shortly, before gesturing around at all of the suits. "What've you been working on?"

"Oh… these old things… I'm just tinkering with the suit…" Stark answered flippantly.

"You said you had something you wanted me to see, though?" Bucky prompted.

"Yes, right!" Tony responded, clapping his hands and making his way to a packed workbench on the far side of the room. "I got thinking after the two of you left, actually… I'm already the unrivaled leader in clean energy in the world, and it's not as if anyone is going to be able to match the arc reactor technology at any point soon without divine intervention… and what's the fun of resting on your laurels while sitting on the top, right?" He grabbed an arm off of the bench – for a second, Steve thought that it was another piece of one of his suits, but as he held it out to Bucky it became apparent that it was shaped exactly like his prosthesis, only made of something other than metal.

"So… you're building arms?" Bucky asked, taking the prosthetic in his left hand to examine it as Stark handed it over.

"Limbs in general, yeah. You saw how sad the prosthetic market is right now… even SHIELD and all of their great genius wasn't able to come up with a functioning design for you, and I thought… hell, I built the Mona Lisa of cybernetic arm replacements. Why not find a way to mass-market them and take over the biomedical engineering world, as well?"

Bucky moved the prosthetic around as he spoke, articulating the wrist and the fingers before hefting it up and down in his right hand. "It's so much lighter than mine… what are you using?"

Stark grinned, "Well… there aren't many people out there who need to punch their way through walls, and even fewer who are capable of lifting Harleys, so I could give up some of the material strength requirements that went into yours to build ones that actual human beings are strong enough to cart around." He dug around under a chair and pulled out a leg, as well. "Titanium alloys for the anchoring portions… they're about the same weight and density as bones anyway, then fiberglass for the casing, for now. I'm working on figuring out an appropriate polymer structure… eventually we might be able to just make the casings in 3-D printers. Drop the price for a functional prosthetic from fifteen grand to one or two, allow families to actually buy them."

Steve accepted the leg from Tony, moving the ankle joint around as the words set in. He glanced over and made eye contact with Bucky, sure that his friend was thinking the same as he was, remembering the little girl in Orlando who would benefit so much from something like this. And as Steve listened to Tony ramble on about the costs and the production times and the fact that they could make them removable and require less surgery than Bucky's had… it struck Steve how thoughtful Stark's idea actually was. "That… this is incredible, Tony," he said quietly, "you're gonna change a lot of people's lives…"

Stark looked shocked for a moment, blinking at Steve before scoffing and waving his hand. "Sure, sure… and the more people who can afford them the more that go into market… it's really just a matter of supply and demand, better business if I can get more people wearing it…" And just like that he launched into another rambling description of the economics behind the design and how he wanted to change it, how much fun Pepper's people would have marketing it, how he'd probably design some in the same colors as the Iron Man suit… within a few seconds Steve tuned him out, deciding not to think on why it was that the man couldn't just admit to wanting to do something good for others.

Steve and Bucky poked around the lab for another hour while Stark rambled at them about his projects, before breaking to ask what they'd had planned for the evening.

"Ah… we kinda wanted to Hollywood Hills, see the sign at dark," Steve admitted, waiting for Stark to set in and make fun of them for being such tourists.

"Great idea… it's been years since I've been. Let's go grab dinner then head out, I'll drive." Tony said instead, throwing whatever he had randomly started working on down on his work bench. "Sushi okay?"

Steve looked at Bucky, badly wanting to turn him down… but as Bucky wordlessly rolled his eyes around at the mess they were standing in, he knew that they couldn't. "Sushi's great," Steve heard himself answering instead, plastering his press smile on his face.

"We tried a couple places Natasha recommended in New York," Bucky explained when Stark looked surprised at the easy agreement.

Steve nodded along, before adding, "We'll just go change and freshen up, let us know when you want to leave?"

Stark sniffed at his own shirt and promised them JARVIS would have them called to the foyer, and then ran up a flight of stairs at the opposite end of the room. Steve and Bucky looked at each other for a moment more, before Bucky called out, "Um… JARVIS. Where's our stuff?"

It turned out that they had an entire wing to themselves, each bedroom at least as big as their entire apartment back in Manhattan and with a private bathroom in each to boot. Steve was in the middle of washing his face when Bucky leaned against the doorway. "I told you something wasn't right… how long d'you think he's been holed up here by himself?"

Steve shook his head, drying his face off with a hand towel before continuing. "I don't know what you're talking about… he's Stark, he's supposed to be a little eccentric and brilliant. How do we know this is anything out of the ordinary for him?"

"Cuz he's built a damned lesion of fighting robots in the past six weeks!" Bucky hissed, looking over his shoulder like he was expecting JARVIS to yell at him. "I'm just saying… I know we don't know him that well, but… this ain't normal, Steve. This… I think he's shaken up from New York."

"We did fight off a giant army of flying alien robots, and he carried a nuclear warhead on his back through a space portal," Steve deadpanned, "I don't know why you're so…"

"Look," Bucky interrupted, sighing in frustration, "You didn't… We had a real good run with the Howlies, did a lot of bad shit and saw a lot of bad shit but always came out on top. But some guys… I'm just sayin', he's got that look that some of the guys got in Kreischberg. I think maybe we should tell somebody… you know as well as I do that he's not been sleeping."

Steve frowned – it wasn't like Bucky to call a guy out like this, especially with something as serious as canon fever. He didn't like Stark that much, but he really thought that Bucky looked at the guy like he was a friend, making the accusations all the more strange. "Buck, I don't like Stark, but I've got no reason to question his bravery or his… mental stability. Besides, he's got a girl to look after him… Pepper's smart, if she thinks he needs help she'll get it." Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but Steve continued on. "It ain't our business to step in and embarrass him like that."

Bucky's mouth closed with a click before he cast his eyes down and nodded. "Yeah, alright," he finally agreed quietly, pushing himself away from the door jamb and standing to his full height. "You're probably right, I just… I was just thinking, is all."

Steve smirked, "Well don't hurt yourself, okay? We've still got a long ass drive before we're home."

Bucky shoved him away with a smile and a muttered, "Punk," before making his way back to whichever room he'd been settled in to get dressed.

Stark insisted on taking them in a convertible, despite the fact that there were three of them and neither Steve nor Bucky could sit particularly comfortably in the back seat… Steve did have to grudgingly admit, though, that it made for a hell of a view as they drove into the hills. After dinner and sightseeing Tony continued driving through the exclusive neighborhoods, pointing out gates similar to his own and dropping names of people that Steve assumed must be hugely important.

"You're sure you don't want me to make a few phone calls?" He asked for at least the twelfth time. "I'm telling you, I put out the word that I'm having a party at my place for Captain America, there will be eligible ladies lined up around the neighborhood."

"It's fine, Tony," Steve sighed, "We want to get an early start in the morning, anyway."

Stark gave them both an incredulous look as he stopped at a light, before shaking his heads and muttering something about grandpas.

The mansion was blessedly quiet when they got back to it, and they both begged off any further adventures with Tony, insisting that they needed to sleep before heading out in the morning.

Bucky knocked on Steve's door shortly before 0800 the next morning, already dressed in a short-sleeved button-down and jeans, looking like he was ready to leave whenever Steve was. "Just give me a second…" Steve said around his toothbrush, opening his door and returning to the bathroom to finish washing up.

"Captain Rogers… Sergeant Barnes." JARVIS spoke up, "Mr. Stark wanted me to let you know that there's breakfast waiting in the sitting room, so to stop by before you leave."

"He ask you to spy on us, too?" Steve heard Bucky mutter.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that, Sergeant Barnes…" JARVIS answered pleasantly, causing Steve to laugh as he spat his toothpaste into the sink.

They hauled all of their gear downstairs once Steve was ready, grateful for the lack of the creepy Iron Man suits as help. As JARVIS had said, the coffee table in the living room was absolutely covered with food – an impressive feat, considering its size.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I made sure to have a little of everything made," Tony explained, swanning into the room as Bucky and Steve stared at the spread. Steve wasn't exactly surprised to notice the dark smudges under his eyes were even worse than they'd been the night before, or that he seemed to still be wearing the suit pants that he'd gone out in. "Anyway, there's eggs, bacon, eggs benedict, crepes, the usual faire… then fruit and croissants and muffins and whatnot, and I wasn't sure if you had any dietary restrictions, so… everything on this side of the table is gluten-free." He finished, grabbing up a plate and a couple of waffles from the side he'd indicated.

Steve didn't even know what the hell gluten was… but it all smelled good, and he wasn't about to turn it down, especially when Tony'd apparently gone out of his way to make sure they were fed before they left.

They made idle chitchat as they ate, Steve and Bucky putting away three full plates of food to be polite, and in an attempt to sample most of what Stark had put out. Finally, Steve admitted that he couldn't take anymore, finishing his coffee cup and setting his plate aside. "Well Stark…" he sighed, "I really can't say thanks enough for having us, but we should probably get on the road… we planned on stopping in Fresno for a bit and wanted to make it to San Francisco by evening…"

"Actually, there was one more thing," Stark mentioned, gesturing between the two of them with a piece of toast. "I saw the specs for your apartment in the SHIELD data; sad, depressing rat-trap, if you ask me. So I took it upon myself to set aside a couple of floors in Avengers Tower… just stop by when you get back into town, Pep has all of the info so you can pick out your paint and furniture and whatnot."

Steve shot Bucky a pained look, who finished his last bite of flapjacks before answering. "Ah… thanks, Tony, but we were thinking of looking for a spot in Brooklyn."

Steve's brow furrowed slightly, sending him a nonverbal we were? before he added, "And we have no idea yet where SHIELD is gonna end up stationing us, so…"

Stark sighed, shooting a dirty look at Bucky, "You're still on the SHIELD train?"

"We're keeping our options open." Steve responded shortly, "And we're not making any decisions until our vacation is over."

That conversation ended, Bucky and Steve finally rose to their feet and gathered up their belongings.

"Don't be strangers, got it?" Tony asked, walking the both of them to the door.

"Sure thing," Steve agreed easily.

"And take care of yourself, alright?" Bucky added, earning a tight, awkward smile from Tony.

They kept with their plans to detour up I-5 to Fresno to visit Morita's grave. Although it was hours out of the way, and meant that they would need to nearly double back to Cambria if they wanted to ride up the coast through Big Sur, both Bucky and Steve agreed that it was more than worth the trouble.

That said, putting the wreath down in the spot where one of their friends was actually laid to rest ended up hitting them even harder than the memorial at Arlington had been – they spent a long time simply standing beside his headstone, shoulders nearly touching and heads bowed as they paid their respects.

"We should have made it a point to find the others as well… figure out where Dum-Dum and Gabe are," Steve muttered after at least half an hour of silence, his voice full of guilt.

"I think if anyone would have understood, it'd have been them," Bucky responded quietly, continuing on at Steve's frown. "Seriously… we can do it another time. But the whole point of this was to get out and see the sites and start figuring out how to get on with life. Wouldn'ta been able to do that if we spent the whole time running sadness errands."

Steve pursed his lips, clearly not happy with agreeing on the point, but didn't bother arguing. After a short, silent prayer on Steve's part and an awkward, quiet goodbye from Bucky, they finally made their way back to the bikes, neither of them saying a word as they headed back in the direction of the Pacific coast.

Although his head was filled mostly with memories and regret, Steve couldn't help marveling at the views as they made their way onto the cliffs along Big Sur – the Pacific Ocean crashed against the beaches below them, while wooded mountains rose against the sky to their right. Bucky radioed him as they were coming up on a scenic lookout, indicating that they really should stop for a bit and enjoy the view – and Steve was more than happy to agree.

After standing next to each other in silent wonder and taking in the views for a few minutes, Bucky moved to grab his camera out of its storage space in his saddle bag. "You mind hanging around here for a while?" Steve asked, an idea to clear his mind and truly enjoy the place forming in his head.

"Course," Bucky answered, removing the cap from the lens and looking over. "Long as you want, pal… I'm not in any kinda rush."

Steve nodded his thanks before digging into his knapsack and pulling out his sketchbook and satchel of pencils. He'd been trying to sketch as Bucky had recommended, wanting to put the gift to good use, and while they were nothing compared to some of the drawings he used to be capable of, he felt like he was getting at least a bit better. He flipped past pages of random doodles, a couple of attempts at capturing Bucky's metal arm in different poses, Peggy sitting by her window, Cinderella's castle and random mountain ranges and the Grand Canyon. Taking a seat next to his Harley, Steve started sketching out the view of the ocean off of the overlook, beginning to lose himself in the peace of the waves rolling onto the sand and the occasional click of Buck's camera.

By the time they finally came into the city limits of San Francisco it was well after 1530, and they were both starving. Steve noticed a diner that looked reasonably promising and radioed as much to Bucky, who of course agreed immediately on stopping for lunch.

The place didn't look particularly special as far as diners went, but it meant that they recognized all of the food and had a sign in the front indicated that they had won a few awards for their food, so the decision to stay and eat was easy. They were seated easily in a booth in the corner, given how awkward a time of day it was, and quickly ordered burgers, fries and sodas, deciding there was no point in straying from what they knew.

The mood that settled over the table when the waitress left was a melancholy one, although Steve chalked it up to the events of the morning. After a few minutes of awkward small talk, Bucky pulled his camera out of his knapsack and began flipping through the photos he'd taken, while Steve offered compliments on the ones he decided were good enough to share and cleaned up his favorite of his sketches from the overlook. Steve vaguely noticed that a few other patrons had come into the diner since they'd been seated, but with his back to the door, he hadn't paid them any mind.

They both stowed their belongings when their food was brought out, thanking the waitress pleasantly and then tearing into their meals. Or rather- Steve did… Bucky was eating, but seemed decidedly more focused on something going on out the window on the opposite side of the diner. Since he didn't seem to be alarmed at all, Steve took it in stride, continuing to eat without calling attention to it, until finally his curiosity got the better of him, and he turned just enough in his booth to see what it was that his friend was so fixated on.

There were a couple of young men… boys really, Steve wouldn't have placed them much older than twenty… sharing the same bench at a booth across the diner. They were speaking lowly enough that Steve would have had to consciously eavesdrop to listen in, their heads and shoulders pressed closely together as they murmured and laughed about something. He could see why Bucky had found the two so compelling – something about them held Steve's attention as well, his chest feeling oddly tight as he watched the easy way the two just existed together. His reverie was interrupted when the waitress brought them a milkshake – a single glass, with two straws in it – smiling at their pleasant thanks. Suddenly the entire scene became that much more intimate; he knew this schtick, had played tag-along as Bucky had pulled it on countless girls back in Brooklyn… they weren't just guys having lunch together, they were on a date.

Steve turned immediately, feeling his ears heat with shame for having watched in the first place. He noticed that Bucky had dropped his eyes to his plate as well, the metal fingers of his left hand toying around with a French fry. Steve's stomach turned over and he took a quick sip of his soda, trying to figure out some surreptitious way to ask Bucky what was wrong. Finally, after a couple of minutes of painful quiet, Steve nudged Bucky under the table with his foot, frowning questioningly when he looked up with overly-bright eyes.

"Just… surprised me is all, I guess." Bucky whispered, lowly enough that no one but Steve had a chance of hearing.

That much Steve understood; he'd seen plenty of guys make time with one another before, but only ever on accident, happening on them in dark alleys down by the docks… or once, in a seedy old speak-easy that had been converted into a queer bar. But the idea of two guys being romantic in broad daylight, next to an enormous restaurant window that faced a busy street, where no one seemed to give a damn about it… it was a nice change, for sure, but a surprising one nonetheless. "It's… it's a lot more normal now," he murmured finally, just as quietly as Bucky had earlier. "Here especially, I suppose. I did a little bit of reading on it a few weeks ago… apparently the past ten years there's been a huge movement for queer rights, making sure there's more equality…" He finally trailed off – in part for fear that he'd be overheard whispering about the poor couple just trying to enjoy a milkshake on the other side of the diner, and in part because, inexplicably, Bucky's face only seemed to grow sadder as he talked.

"Yeah, it's great," Bucky murmured with a small smile, although his eyes remained dark and pained as he continued to steal looks across the diner. Finally, when Steve had finished his own meal and the uncomfortable sadness hanging over the table had become near-to unbearable, Bucky spoke up again, pushing his plate aside. "Think I'm just gonna ask for a box, 'mnot that hungry anymore. Want to get out of here and go find a place to stay?"

Bucky had barely touched his food except to pick at it and move it around the plate, but Steve wasn't about to point out as much… instead, he nodded in agreement, catching their waitress' attention after Buck had excused himself for the bathroom and getting both the box and the check taken care of. As they made their way through the city towards the bridge, already having agreed that a room with a view would be worth the extra cash, Steve puzzled over Bucky's behavior in the diner, eventually deciding to chalk it up to residual sadness from visiting Morita's grave.

He didn't want to entertain the other, more disconcerting possibilities.

It took some looking, but they finally found a hotel near the Golden Gate strait that had vacancies. Bucky volunteered to haul in their luggage while Steve went ahead and got their room, so Steve made his way into the lobby with just his knapsack, pausing for a moment to appreciate the gorgeous view of the Bay through the enormous windows before approaching the concierge desk. The woman waiting to help was a beautiful blonde, and gave him an enormous, bubbly smile as she greeted him.

"Yeah… thanks," Steve smiled, trying not to be too put off. "I'll need a room for two, just for the night. Preferably with a view of the bridge, if you have any available."

"I'm sure I can find something," she responded pleasantly. "Is this your first time in San Francisco?"

Steve hummed an affirmative, leafing through the pamphlets of attractions as the concierge, Caroline, according to her nametag, worked on her computer.

He felt someone sidle up beside him before hearing Bucky's voice ask, "Any luck?"

Caroline looked between the two of them, her smile dimming a bit before she resumed typing away at her computer. "Okay… looks like we have a room on the twelfth floor that should suit you guys, if that sounds good to you?"

"Sounds great," Steve responded pleasantly, pulling his credit card out of his wallet and handing it over to reserve the room. Weird as it still was to think that a piece of plastic could take care of essentially all of their finances, Steve had to admit that he was beginning to truly appreciate its convenience.

"Alright," Caroline said pleasantly, her smile nothing but professional as she swiped a couple of key cards to activate them and then handed them over with Steve's credit card, "You'll be in 1246, then. The elevators are just down this hallway here to the right. Checkout will be tomorrow at 11 am, and room service information is all in the brochure in your room, but you can call down if you have any questions or concerns."

"Sounds good," Steve responded pleasantly, taking back his card and the key card envelope.

"Thank you, ma'am." Bucky added, his charming smile in place, although it didn't quite seem to reach his eyes.

Steve made a mental note to ask him about it once they were settled in, before grabbing up his knapsack and one of the saddle bags and leading the way to the elevators.

They made their way in companionable silence to the elevator, although Bucky whistled as the door closed behind them. "Swanky digs…"

Steve shook his head at the comment – it really wasn't that much nicer than most of the places they had stayed in – but couldn't help smiling all the same. There were still moments when he had trouble wrapping his head around the fact that this whole trip was real, so knowing that Bucky seemed to be equally impressed was a pleasant thought. Their room was easy enough to find, at the end of the hall on the twelfth floor, and Steve shouldered the bags he'd been carrying so that he could slip one of the key cards into the lock, turning the handle and pushing the door open when the tiny light on it turned green.

Steve took a few steps into the room before coming to a stop, frowning as he took in the single bed in the center. Bucky nearly ended up running into him, making a questioning grumble of a noise before standing on his tip-toes to look over Steve's shoulder. "What are you… oh."

"I think she made a mistake with the room numbers," Steve said awkwardly, already getting ready to turn around and make his way back to the lobby. "Let's just go back down and ask her to switch, it doesn't look like they're that busy…"

Bucky chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "Nah, Steve… She meant to give us this room cuz she thinks we're together together – 'swhy she quit flirting with you when I showed up." He licked his lips briefly (Steve tried but failed to look away from his mouth) before continuing nonchalantly, "But… if you want, we can go back down. I don't mind setting her straight."

Something about the way he said it set Steve's teeth on edge… like Bucky was upset by the fact that Steve wanted to correct the mistake. "It's fine." He ended up hearing himself say, instead. "I don't mind if you don't."

Bucky blinked at him in surprise. Steve looked back at the bed again – it was easily the biggest bed that he'd ever seen, and more than enough room for the two of them. And it wasn't as if they hadn't shared tight sleeping quarters for most of their lives… why would this be any different than piling the couch cushions on the floor?

"You sure?" Bucky asked skeptically, nodding towards the door behind him. "Cuz I'm fine if you want to…"

"No sense in making more trouble for her," Steve responded matter-of-factly, before finally making his way out of the entryway and into the room, dropping his bag on the floor to the left of the bed and moving to the window to throw the blinds open.

They went about their usual evening routine, cleaning up one at a time in the bedroom and taking a minute to catch up on their StarkPads. Finally, 2300 rolled around and they both climbed into bed, each turning onto their side to face away from each other, a good six inches of space between their backs. Nothing strange about it at all, Steve thought to himself.

"G'night," Bucky murmured sleepily from his side of the bed.

"Night, Bucky." Steve answered, before curling in on himself and trying to get more comfortable. Although he was hyper-aware of the heat he could feel coming from Bucky's side of the bed, it wasn't long before his familiar slow, deep breaths began to lull his mind.

When Steve next began to notice anything he was curled into a tight ball, as he tended to sleep every night – he figured that it was his body's subconscious desire to feel normal again, making itself as small as possible, so that it could rest the only way it had ever known. His mind drifted between sleep and wakefulness, marveling over how warm and comfortable and safe he felt. Well-rested, too… more than he could remember in the recent past; probably since their ridiculous night on the floor in the living room.

Despite his baser instincts' protest, Steve started to wake fully, and that was when he noticed the rest… the heavy, warm arm that was draped over his waist, the familiar, even breaths against the nape of his neck. He opened his eyes completely, his brain finally computing the situation. At some point in the night Bucky had rolled over, and was now draped completely over Steve, his front pressed tightly against Steve's back from hips to shoulders, his nose tucked into the short hairs on the back of Steve's head. And even worse than that, Steve realized how his body was responding to having Bucky in such an intimate position… he'd been so uncomfortable the night that they'd shared the couch cushions on the floor that it hadn't been an issue, but here, in an enormous, comfortable hotel bed, his morning woody was so hard that anyone with eyes would be able to see just how much he was enjoying his friend's touch.

Moving as carefully as possible, Steve extracted himself from underneath Bucky's arm, holding his breath as Buck whimpered slightly before blowing it out in relief when he simply turned into his pillow and returned to sleep. All the same, Steve was careful to keep his back to the bed, grabbing his jeans from the day before from where he had left them draped over the desk chair and silently locking himself in the bathroom to change. After splashing cold water on his face and situating himself so that his problem wasn't completely obvious, Steve made his way out of the bathroom, insanely relieved to find Bucky still sleeping peacefully. He quickly pulled on a shirt and jotted a quick note to leave on the pillow next to him, before pulling on his shoes and making his way out the door.

He let himself wander around the neighborhood, the warm morning air filling his lungs and clearing his head of all of the unwanted thoughts the morning had filled it with. In a way, Steve figured he should probably be glad that there hadn't been more awkward moments like that, given how much time they'd been spending together – even when they were living together before the war, they had the distraction of work and Bucky's dates. But aside from everything that happened with the Cube, it had essentially been just the two of them since waking up… eight weeks of spending near-to every waking moment together. Steve really, really didn't want to complain about it, but… it made certain things considerably more difficult.

With a sigh, he made his way into a nearby bakery, looking over their selection of foods before picking out a couple of egg sandwiches and ordering plain coffees. A pan of the most outrageously huge cinnamon rolls caught his eye while he was waiting on the sandwiches, so on a whim Steve ordered a pair of them as well; considering Bucky's sweet tooth and the both of their appetites, they wouldn't go to waste.

Bucky was already dressed when Steve let himself back into the room, seated Indian-style in the middle of the bed in jeans and a t-shirt as he messed with his StarkPad. He looked up with a smile as Steve entered the room… if Bucky remembered anything about the morning, he didn't give any indication of being uncomfortable with it, so Steve decided to write it off as well. "Sorry… woke up starving, I thought I'd run out and get breakfast," he explained, even though the note he had left had said as much. He handed over the bag to Bucky as he toed out of his shoes, hesitating for a second before taking a seat at the desk instead of climbing onto the bed as he'd initially intended.

Bucky hummed as he opened the bag, grabbing out one of the Styrofoam boxes and taking one of the cinnamon rolls out of it before handing the rest over to Steve. "No complaints here," he said pleasantly, before adding a quick "thanks."

"Not a problem." Steve responded, hesitating for a second before asking, "Sleep alright?"

"Like a dream, yeah," Bucky answered after a second, jamming a bite of the roll in his mouth, just too slow for Steve not to miss his sad smile as he said it.

They spent five days wandering around Yellowstone National Park, after locking their bikes and valuables away in a safe storage outside of the park and hiking in with their knapsacks. The plan had originally been to spend 48 hours at most, with the idea of going in, seeing Old Faithful and hitting the most highly-recommended sights, and then continuing on their way East… but after realizing how many campsites there were in the park and how gorgeous the land was, they both agreed it was worth taking the time and roughing it.

They stopped at the main campground before the south entrance on the morning of their fifth day for a much-needed proper shower and shave before picking the bikes back up and moving on. Bucky's phone was in the middle of powering back up as he waited for a shower to open when he noticed the date, blinking in surprise as **3 July** lit up the screen.

"Uh… Steve?" He called out, waiting until Steve's head popped around the corner of the shower stall he'd disappeared to before continuing. "You might want to think about waiting to shave…"

"I'm pretty positive it's well-past time, Buck…" Steve responded, automatically itching at the nearly week-old scruff that had grown in on his face. Between how sick he had been in their youth and then the regs in the Army, Bucky had never even imagined what his friend would look like with a beard… and while he was definitely enjoying it more than he really wanted to admit to himself, he had to agree that being outside in July was hardly the time to start growing one.

His own sad growth of whiskers itched in response. "I'm just sayin'…" he continued, lowering his voice so that he wouldn't be heard over the sound of all of the showers running without enhanced hearing. "Tomorrow's the Fourth of July and we're gonna be at one of the most patriotic places in America…"

Steve blinked at him in confusion for a moment, before groaning and disappearing from the door of the shower stall to finish. Bucky was sure he was imagining how crazy people would go tripping over themselves to get pictures with Captain America at Mount Rushmore, especially on Independence Day.

Finally, one of the showerheads cut off, and Steve emerged a couple of seconds later, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair and beard still dripping. "Fine, you've got a point…" He admitted grudgingly, "I'll leave it until we're heading out of there, but you gotta keep yours, too."

Bucky laughed as he grabbed up his shower kit, consciously forcing his eyes to remain on Steve's scruffy face instead of following the water droplets running off of it. "Alright, fine…" He agreed pleasantly, making his way to the abandoned shower, "I'll suffer in solidarity."

Although it was nowhere near as huge as Yellowstone there was plenty to be seen in Keystone, and when they heard there would be a fireworks show over the monument on the night of the fourth, Bucky insisted that they stay over in a campsite for the two nights. It wasn't Steve's birthday without a fireworks show, after all.

Which brought Bucky to the major, Earth-shattering problem that he now had to work out… the morning of July fourth rose bright and clear and lovely, and he had no way of getting access to a kitchen.

Bucky had spent a frankly ridiculous amount of time and money during the spring of '41 teaching himself how to bake Sarah Roger's apple cake, desperate to make sure that Steve would still be able to get his favorite on his birthday, even though his ma had passed. By the grace of God he'd actually figured it out, and had made sure that Steve had it every year that they were together since. Even while they were at war, Bucky had figured a way to procure the necessary supplies. He would never, ever let Steve know how many schillings he had blown 'renting' a little old lady's kitchen from her in the tiny Austrian village they were passing through so he could bake it.

But now… they were sleeping in a damned campsite in the middle of nowhere, and it wasn't exactly if he could simply walk up and knock on someone's door to ask for the favor.

Bucky begged off joining Steve on his run, pretending to still be too sleepy to get off of his bedroll. The second that the big lug had finally quit badgering him and taken off on his own, Bucky had hauled ass into the nearest town on his Harley, praying there would be a bakery open despite the holiday.

He was lucky enough to find one, a small, quaint place whose sign said that they specialized in cupcakes… which were apparently just miniature cakes with extra frosting. Bucky shrugged to himself before opening the door, figuring that it made more sense given their circumstances, anyway.

He was browsing the options in the main case – they all seemed to be red, white and blue frosting decked monstrosities, when a young woman made her way out of the back, smiling broadly at him. "Sorry… didn't hear you come in," she started politely, thankfully ignoring the fact that he'd shoved his left hand in his jacket pocket in a rush. "Our specials today are firework cakes – they're basically our version of funfetti, but we have most of our regulars available in the back as well. Anything in particular you're looking for?"

"Ah… yeah," Bucky answered, returning her kindness with his own charming grin even as he wondered what the hell funfetti could be. "I was wondering if you had any that were apple-flavored?"

The girl's smile faded in confusion.

"It's just… it's my best friend's birthday today, and his favorite dessert is apple cake, it's kinda a family tradition…"

"We don't have any apple cupcakes," she responded sympathetically, before moving towards the far end of the counter, "but we do have some apple muffins left over from the breakfast rush." She smiled proudly as she held up the aforementioned muffins – compared to the cupcakes they looked sad and brown and flat, and Bucky had no doubt that his disappointment showed on his face. "I know they don't look like much," she assured him quickly, "but they're some of our best sellers. And they're whole wheat and vegan!"

Yet more words he didn't know, of course, but Bucky was starting to feel desperate… it wasn't as if there were a lot of other places he could go in search of a proper cake, and Steve would be getting back from his run soon, anyway.

"Alright," he said, forcing a smile, "I'll take one."

"I'll box up a few for you," the girl responded pleasantly, already grabbing a box. "We need to clear them out anyway… I'll throw the other two in for free, a birthday present for your friend. Oh!" She left the box on the counter, ducking beneath the register for a few moments before coming out with a box of birthday candles. "And you'll need this, too." She added with a grin, dropping a couple of them in the box before ringing him up.

That night he'd waited until Steve wandered away to fill their water tanks after dinner before pulling the bakery box out of his saddlebag, arranging a muffin on one of the camp plates and lighting the sad little candle as he heard footsteps making their way back in his direction.

"We should probably get going if we're gonna catch the…" Steve started, before setting the jugs down with a smile. "What's this?"

"Well…" Bucky started, rubbing at the back of his neck with his left hand, hoping that the metal might cool it down a bit. "I realized this morning that I didn't even think about how you were gonna get your cake this year, so I went to the bakery up on 16 but it turns out all people want anymore are big ridiculous fancy-pants cakes with butter cream and chocolate flakes and funfetti god knows what else, but they had apple muffins that they said were a real big hit, so…" He trailed off, holding the plate up for Steve to take and avoiding eye contact.

"It's vegan," he added hopefully, still not entirely sure what the hell that even meant – at least it made it sound special.

Sarah Rogers was rolling in her grave.

Steve was quiet for just a beat too long, and Bucky looked at him properly just soon enough to watch his lips wobble funny before they pulled into a smile. "Thanks, Buck," he murmured softly, eyes bright in the firelight as he stepped closer and finally took the plate from him.

He paused for a moment before blowing the candle out, and then… being Steve… immediately broke the thing in half, handing part of it over to Bucky. "No, it's all you…" Bucky insisted, "I got a couple more for later if we want 'em, but…"

"Then there's plenty more for later," Steve interrupted smartly. "C'mon, what's the point of an apple birthday muffin if you can't share it with your best friend?"

Bucky opened his mouth to insist, but shut it just as quickly – God and all the heavens knew how stubborn Steve Rogers was, and it wasn't as if he didn't have a point. So Bucky took the proffered sweet with a rueful smile, raising it like a drink to toast with and saying, "Happy 95th, Punk."

He waited until Steve had chuckled quietly and taken his own first bite before trying it. While the muffin was nowhere similar to their usual, Bucky had to admit that it wasn't half bad. The texture was a little off, but it was dense and moist and kind of spicy, and nowhere near as overpoweringly sweet as most of the modern baked goods they'd tried. They ate in silence, staring into the flickering flames of their dying campfire, until Steve finished his half with a sigh.

"I… seriously, Bucky. Thank you." He started, his voice a little thick as he wiped his hands on his jeans. "For this and the trip and… y'know, everything." He took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. "I have no idea what I'd do…"

"Hey now," Bucky interrupted gruffly, jamming the last bit of muffin into his mouth. "We're out in the wilderness around a perfectly good campfire… none of that sappy shit, okay?"

Steve barked out a surprise laugh, turning his face away from the fire and rubbing at it with the back of his hand for a moment before looking at Bucky, an amused smile on his face as he shook his head. "Yeah, alright ya big Jerk. Now can we get a move on over to the sculpture? They'll be starting the fireworks at any minute…"

Bucky nodded, making sure that the box containing the rest of the muffins was locked up in the cooler they'd bought before getting to his feet and following Steve up the path to the nearest viewpoint.

It wasn't necessarily that Steve didn't like Chicago – it seemed like a nice enough city, and they'd both admittedly enjoyed the Shedd Aquarium before Bucky lost half of a day in the Museum of Science and Industry. But… the Sears Tower really hadn't been any more impressive than 30 Rock usually was, and Navy Pier felt a hell of a lot like an unfamiliar, disappointing Coney Island, and well… they had both agreed that they weren't going to bring up the pizza again.

"Wha'd'ya say we just check out in the morning and head towards Niagara?" Steve asked that night, looking out the window of their hotel room at the river while Bucky flipped aimlessly through the channels on their TV.

"I mean… I'm fine with it, if you're sure," Bucky said hesitantly. "You seemed pretty set on seeing a game in Wrigley…"

Steve shrugged and turned back to face the room. "It'll still be here, right? We can come back… I just… I think I wanna go see the falls and head home."

Bucky watched him carefully for a second before smiling. "That's fine, Stevie… we'll head out in the morning, then."

They were out of the hotel by dawn the next morning, riding through the Northern parts of Indiana and Ohio and then skirting along the coast of Lake Erie, so that they made it to Niagara by the late afternoon. After dropping their belongings in a cheap motel they made their way to the falls, admiring the view from a distance as the crowds of tourists began thinning out for the night.

The view wasn't quite as awe-inspiring as the Grand Canyon had been, but Steve could still appreciate the beauty of it, regretting the fact that he'd left his sketchbook behind in the room. "We should come back here at some point, too," he murmured as Bucky's camera flashed, turning with surprise when he realized it had been pointed at him.

"It's close enough," Bucky agreed, without an ounce of regret for having been caught sneaking pictures. "Maybe make a detour to Cooperstown, too, since we didn't get it in this time…"

Steve nodded in agreement, knowing he probably should have tried to find the motivation to have finished the trip out as planned, rather than giving in and heading home. Bucky pointed his camera at the falls again, taking a few more pictures and considering them on the screen before picking up on Steve's low mood.

"Look, it's fine that you wanna head back, you know. God knows I probably should… I was thinking the other night, I don't think we've ever taken this long a break from work in our lives."

That much was true, but somehow Steve didn't think it could completely explain away the itch that he was feeling that he should be doingsomething. He had no idea how to articulate as much to Bucky, though, so he simply hummed in agreement, watching the colors of the mist from the falls change as the sun moved lower on the horizon.

Nearly everything about Brooklyn had changed.

They knew that, of course – it had been impossible to notice when they walked through on their way to Goldie's for training, and the couple of times they'd visited shops in the neighborhood, but the reality of it all didn't really hit Steve until they'd decided to spend a day properly exploring their old haunts now that they were back in town. The theaters were mostly closed, the storefronts that Steve had been able to earn odd money painting had been converted into trendy boutiques and restaurants, and their old building had been knocked over at some point, replaced with a row of townhouses that Steve could only imagine ran for a fortune.

On one hand, he was glad that Bucky was there to see it with him – while his silent, tense face showed that he was just as affected by it all as Steve was, just knowing that someone understood how wrong it all was helped. But on the other hand… there was a part that almost made it worse, seeing this new version of Bucky, in this new version of Brooklyn, from his own new perspective where the colors and sounds and air all seemed full of so much more that it turned it into an alien environment.

They finally moved away from the corner they'd been stood on, not wanting to be caught out for loitering, when Bucky cleared his throat and spoke up. "Penny for 'em…" He asked gruffly, apparently in a poor attempt to lighten the mood.

Steve shrugged helplessly, letting his feet lead them in the direction of the docks without even thinking of it. "It's just… I think about all of the times over there that I imagined coming home, and I don't wanna be ungrateful for it, but…"

"But everything's ass backwards and you don't know how to deal, now?" Bucky finished for him.

"Yeah," Steve sighed, knowing he couldn't put it any better.

A group of kids ran by them on the sidewalk, one of them sliding along behind on shoes that looked like they had wheels in the heel of the sole, and they moved aside to let them pass, Steve trying to figure out the purpose of the shoes for a second before continuing on their way. "… I'm gonna call Fury tomorrow and tell him I'm joining SHIELD." He announced, out of the blue.

Bucky was quiet for a long moment, before responding, "Yeah… figured you would."

Steve glanced at him out of the side of his eye, trying to figure out what his tone meant. "You know… you don't have to, if you don't want to. I don't expect anything from you, Buck."

Bucky snorted, shaking his head. "It ain't that… I know you don't, Steve, but that doesn't mean I'm going to leave you to watch your own back." Although the words were his usual, teasing reprimand, there was a bitterness in his tone that Steve hadn't heard in ages – probably not since their first night after marching back to Azzano.

"What's with the attitude… d'I do something?" Steve asked.

"Nothin's wrong, what're you talking about?" Bucky responded testily.

"That!" Steve insisted, "You tearing my head off for nothing… getting pissed cuz I want to go back to being useful…"

"Yeah, Steve," Bucky drawled, "Cuz the only way you'll only be useful to the world is trying your damndest to make a martyr of yourself…"

Steve sputtered for a moment. "Who the hell said anything about martyrs? I'm not sayin' I'm gonna go sign up for every suicide mission I can find; look how long Romanoff and Barton have been working with them!"

In saying it, Steve realized that he didn't actually have any idea how long either of them had been with SHIELD… but it was the principle.

Bucky shook his head, biting his lip for a second before turning and marching back towards the nearest train station without a word.

"So you're just gonna storm off cuz I refuse to pack it in?" Steve grumbled at his retreating back, his resentment over the whole thing growing. "What the hell do you want me to do, Bucky? The whole reason I've gone through all this shit was for the sake of helping people, I can't just… piss it all away now."

"What more can they even ask?!" Bucky exploded back, his face red and angry as he spun around. "Christ, you gave them everything, Steve… this is the SSR and the Army and enlisting bullshit all over again!"

Steve blinked at the sudden outrage, opening his mouth to retort but getting cut off. "The last few weeks… the last few weeks have been so good, Stevie. And hell, the fame you've got now, the abilities – you could do whatever the hell you want. And instead you're just gonna sign up to fight, again, let them…" He swallowed thickly, rubbing his face with his right hand.

"Let them what?" Steve asked, his voice hollow.

"Let them turn you into a god damned weapon again." Bucky croaked, his hand still over his eyes. "You… Christ, I left for a couple of damned months and… and my best friend, the best guy in the fuckin' world gets overhauled into this shiny new toy for the war, then comes over and doesn't even need me around anymore…"

Steve felt like his stomach was dropping through the sidewalk as Bucky continued to talk… he'd never, in a million years, have imagined Bucky would have felt like this, would have bottled up these kind of feelings about Steve and kept them from him; especially in all of the time that they'd spent fighting and living together. He cleared his throat roughly, trying to think of any appropriate way to respond to the outburst.

"I…" he finally said weakly, staring at his sneakers. "I'm still the same guy, Buck… the serum didn't do anything to me, just made it so my body wasn't so worthless anymore, let me actually be an asset for the cause. But…" he swallowed again, forcing himself to look up. Bucky still stood a few paces away from him, staring silently. "You've gotta know I still need you, Buck. I always will."

They continued staring at each other, breathing slightly ragged and looking so emotionally drained that the people passing them on the sidewalk gave them a berth of a few feet, despite the limited space. Finally, Bucky shook his head, making his way towards Steve with a shaky laugh and pulling him into a tight hug. "We're a fuckin' mess…"

Steve choked on a chuckle as well, returning the hug tightly. "We are… too much idle time together."

Bucky gave him one more squeeze, before slipping out of the embrace, wrapping his right arm around Steve's back in an impression of the way he used to lead him around by the shoulders, starting them both towards the subway again. "I know I'm not gonna be able to talk you out of signing up, then… but can we at least wait to go to Fury until tomorrow?"

"He'd kick us out if we walked in in this shape, anyway," Steve scoffed. "But yeah… tomorrow sounds good. Take out and movies tonight?"

Bucky nodded in agreement as they started down the stairs into the subway station. "Yeah… Dim Sum and Disney and a proper fuckin' couch for a change."

Steve laughed outright at that, pulling away from Bucky so that they could both pass through the subway turn styles. "What more could a guy ask for?"

He realized with a jolt, seeing Bucky's answering grin, that he really couldn't come up with an answer.


	13. Chapter 13: September 2013

**Summary:** Sam Wilson has the weirdest morning run, ever.

* * *

As a kid, Sam had always enjoyed running – preferably in the context of team sports, especially basketball and soccer, but he'd been athletic enough that track and field events were fun, too. The Air Force had largely beaten the enjoyment out of running, of course, but he still felt best if he was able to make time for an early morning jog a few times a week. It had started as a way to cope with the nightmares; but as they had decreased, he'd found that keeping to the routine of running helped his mood, as well. And it beat the hell out of going to the gym on the regular, especially once he'd gotten his new place that was close enough to the Mall to run around the monuments when the weather permitted.

He'd gotten his usual start, heading out as the sun came up, before the tourists started taking up the sidewalks and the worst of the DC swamp-air could set in. As he was coming around the North side of the Tidal Basin he heard someone approaching from his six. The footfalls were coming fast enough that he tensed up for a second, preparing for someone to try to jump him. Instead, all he got was a breezy, "On your left…" as a massive body hauled ass past him, followed a couple of seconds later by, "On your right…"

Sam blinked in surprise as the guys sprinted on ahead – they were enormous, built like freaking Olympic rowers from what he could tell, all huge shoulders and muscular legs and moving way too fast for dudes of their size.

He didn't exactly need to see the flash of metal coming out of the brunette's sleeve to put together who they were. Shaking the crazy feeling of knowing that he'd just been blown past by Captain freaking America, Sam continued at his usual pace – no shame in getting smoked by a couple of super soldiers who looked like they were racing each other, after all.

He continued on his path, running alongside the FDR Memorial and crossing the Ohio Drive bridge towards the Jefferson Memorial, barely making it past the steps when he heard someone sprinting towards him again.

"On your right…" Barnes announced, an instant before Rogers huffed an "On your left."

"Got it, thanks," Sam snarked back automatically, before actually registering the fact that he had a pair of superheroes fucking with him. If he'd been asked to make a list of the top ten things he wouldn't have ever expected to happen to him that morning, this scenario might have actually been included on it.

This time he picked up the pace – the sun was slowly climbing higher anyway, and only had a mile and a half left to go. He'd nearly made it to the Lincoln Memorial, rounding the corner of the Reflection Pool, when he heard the now familiar footsteps again and immediately took off sprinting as well. Of course, they were able to catch up to him in seconds, so Sam did the only thing he could think of to possibly spare his pride, shouting over his left shoulder, "DON'T say it!"

This time they passed him almost freakishly in-step with one another, shouting out their warning together – Barnes had the audacity to even smirk back at him, the son of a bitch, before bumping shoulders with Rogers and continuing to sprint ahead like they were on a 100-yard dash, rather than running a 3-mile circuit.

Sam, for his part, continued running as fast as he could until he reached his usual stopping point near the Washington Monument, sweaty and gross and heaving as he fell down in the shade of a nearby tree, trying to catch his breath. Admittedly, it had been the most fun he'd had running in years.

"Need a medic?" A voice asked nearby, and he looked up to see Steve Rogers in all his glory, striding up without even a ring of sweat visible on his ridiculously tight UnderArmor shirt.

"I need a new set of lungs," Sam wheezed as Bucky Barnes jogged up to a stop, his long-sleeve gray t-shirt impossibly dry as well. "You guys just ran like – thirteen miles in thirty minutes."

"Usually we'd take the C&O up to Potomac," Barnes responded with a lazy shrug, "but we slept in this morning…"

Sam scoffed, wondering whether the guy was being a smartass or not. But then… the way they'd just sprinted the distance they had, he supposed twenty miles wouldn't be that big a stretch. "You should be ashamed of yourselves, then – go take another lap," he chided instead, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "Did you take it? I'm assuming you just took it…"

Rogers chuckled at that, before pointing to the insignia on Sam's sweatshirt. "What unit were you with?"

"58th Pararescue," Sam responded, "but now I'm working at the VA." He held his arms up, beckoning them to help him haul his ass back to his feet and more than a little surprised when both stepped forward and actually lent him a hand. "Sam Wilson," he introduced himself, figuring he'd use the boost as a handshake – it was a fair enough trade for him, anyway.

"Steve Rogers," the blonde responded, before the brunette nodded and added, "James Barnes."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that one out on my own," Sam responded sarcastically, before standing back and trying to maintain his chill. "Must have freaked you guys out, coming back after the whole ice deal…"

Rogers sighed at that, "It takes some getting used to." He shared a quick look with Barnes, before giving Sam a quick nod and starting to walk away, "It was nice to meet you, Sam."

Well… shit, Sam thought, apparently not as chill as he'd intended. "It's the bed, right?" He called out on impulse, watching as they both froze and turned back to him with a confused look.

"What's that?" Barnes asked, his face weirdly closed off.

"Your bed… it's too soft, right?" Sam explained, wondering if he'd somehow managed to offend them and barreling on with his explanation. "I'm a counselor for troops coming back, helping them integrate back into the world, and every single one of us has the same complaint. When I was over there I slept on the ground, used rocks for pillows like a caveman – now I'm home, lying in my bed, and it's like…"

"Like sleepin' on a marshmallow," Barnes finished for him, looking at Sam like he'd been in the middle of pontificating on the meaning of life.

Rogers glanced askance at him before nodding at Sam as well. "Yeah… feels like I'm gonna sink right through to the floor. How long'd you serve?"

"Two tours," Sam responded, crossing his arms over his chest, "Took a while to finally get my head on straight, then figured I'd see if I couldn't help other guys in the same boat." They both looked so earnestly enthralled by that idea that it set off Sam's therapy alarm – he figured he'd change the subject, before it got too weird for any of them to stand it. "You must be missing the good ol' days, huh?"

They both shrugged in tandem, Rogers smirking as he responded, "Things aren't so bad. Food's a lot better."

Barnes hummed in agreement, "We used to boil everything, had to settle for cabbage and potatoes more often than not."

"No polio's good," Rogers cut in as Barnes nodded on cue before snapping his fingers.

"And the internet!" Barnes crowed.

Rogers gestured towards him emphatically, his voice suddenly sounding like he was giving a press conference. "So helpful – we've been reading a lot of that, trying to catch up on things…"

"Watching hours of cat videos," Barnes muttered as an aside.

Sam laughed outright at that, trying to ignore the tightness he felt in his chest as he remembered the way he and Riley had been able to dick around in the same manner. "You two should have a friggin' show," he chuckled.

"Nah…" Barnes drawled, "The History Channel asked us about it, but this one's already had his fill of show business and I ain't got a face they want the camera on all the time."

That was decidedly not true, Sam thought, especially the way that it looked like he'd fixed his hair from the ridiculous vintage comb-over he'd worn when they first started doing press events, but he couldn't think of any way he could say as much without it sounding weird. Especially not to a couple of strangers who were technically two white dudes as old as his grandpa. "Alright," he agreed instead, as something else came to mind instead. "And if you're looking for suggestions – Marvin Gaye, 1972, Trouble Man soundtrack. Everything you missed in music, jammed into one album."

Rogers gave him a thoughtful nod, reaching into the back pocket of his track pants and pulling out a moleskin notebook. "I'll add it to the list," he said gratefully, jotting a line down on a nearly-full sheet of paper.

"Better than What's Going On?" Barnes asked skeptically.

Sam must not have hid his surprise quite fast enough, considering Rogers rolled his eyes at him and shook his head. "Buck's big into music, he's been doing his damndest to hear everything we missed on his own…"

"Not that I don't appreciate recommendations!" Barnes chimed in immediately, "I'm just askin', is all. It was a hell of a record."

"It was," Sam agreed with a grin. "Give Trouble Man a shot. I promise you won't be disappointed."

Before either of them could respond two identical ringtones sounded – Rogers pulled his cell phone out first, frowning as he read the screen before giving Barnes a serious look. "You know who wants us you know where for a briefing by 1000."

Barnes rolled his eyes and muttered something that Sam couldn't catch, while Rogers extended his hand again. "See you around, Sam, and thanks for the run… if you wanna call it that."

Sam scoffed at his cheek – no history book he'd ever read had given the impression that Steve Rogers was such a shit. "Oh, that's how it is?" He asked as he shook his hand.

"Oh – that's how it is," Rogers mocked back, pumping their hands quickly then starting to jog towards 17th street.

Barnes, though, remained rooted to the spot, pulling his own phone out of the pocket of his shorts and staring at it for a second. "Uh… your programs. At the VA." He started hesitantly, still staring at the dark screen of his cell. "They for any Vet?"

Sam blinked at him owlishly, words lost to him – word had it that Barnes and Rogers were working for SHIELD ever since the Battle of New York had happened; surely a government agency of that size and notability would have already given them any necessary PTSD therapy… or whatever the hell else kind of therapy you give to a couple of guys who fight a World War and then get frozen alive while all of their friends die off, only to be reanimated and thrown into a world you had no way of recognizing… before taking them on board.

And if they hadn't – this was so far out of Sam's league that it wasn't even the same sport any more. That said, he couldn't exactly leave the guy hanging. "Yeah, anyone who experienced combat and is having issues dealing with the trauma that goes with it. I'm not a therapist, mind you, but we've got those as well."

Barnes nodded absently, fiddling with his phone for a moment before powering it on. "You have an email? Or – or a website with the information on it?"

Sam bit his lip, waiting for himself to wake up already from the weirdest dream, ever, before nodding and holding his hand out. "Yeah man, I've got an email."

Barnes tapped at the screen of his phone with both thumbs for a second – apparently whatever special government brand it was was somehow responsive to metal, or maybe that was his prosthesis? Sam's thoughts were cut off when the phone was waived in his direction. He took it wordlessly, entering his email address in the appropriate spot, smiling a little at the contact header that read **Running Sam VA**.

"I… thanks." Barnes responded awkwardly as he took the phone back.

"BUCKY!" Rogers shouted from a distance, standing on the opposite side of Constitution Avenue with his hands on his hips.

"I'll be in touch," Barnes said earnestly, shaking the phone at Sam before dropping it back into his pocket and taking off in Rogers' direction as well, moving faster than Sam thought it should be possible for any human to run.

He shook his head as he watched them go, both sprinting so fast up 17th Street that they were passing cars, before turning and beginning his considerably more sedate jog in the opposite direction towards home. The worst part was, even if he wanted to betray their trust and tell someone about the actual insanity of the morning, no one would ever, ever believe him.

Sam Wilson, spending the morning chatting with Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers – who actually seemed to be really great, totally normal dudes if you ignored the whole super-human almost-centenarians thing.

What the hell, man.p


	14. Chapter 14: March 2014

**AN:** Sorry this one is so short again, guys, I just couldn't get this scenes to fit in with any of the other chapters! And I won't even lie, the entire beginning was motivated by this video: watch?v=oEx5lmbCKtY

For timeline purposes, I'm following the dates listed on the MCU wiki page, wherein the events of Iron Man 3 happened in December 2012 and Thor 2 happened in November 2013.

* * *

Bucky toyed with his hair in the mirror before nervously fidgeting with his collar, wishing that Steve would hurry up already and finish changing so that they could go upstairs to the stupid party Tony had insisted they attend. He'd badly wanted to refuse, and probably could have gotten Steve to agree with him, but Tony had given them the puppy eyes, promised that it would be an Avengers-only event, and finally whined at Bucky about them all needing to celebrate his birthday seeing as he'd been on a mission the year previous and frozen in an ice cap for the sixty-odd prior. Bucky was still exhausted from the day-long ordeal of posing for cameras and playing with kids, but he really hadn't been able to argue further with Tony by that point. So… here he was, adjusting the sleeves on his ridiculous cranberry-colored collared shirt, waiting to just go upstairs and get it all over with.

They had finally launched the civilian line of Stark's cybernetic prostheses that afternoon, and Tony had been insistent that Bucky participate in the festivities, being the most famous face of that side of the company. Bucky could only imagine how hard it had been for Tony to admit as much, and figured that he did owe the guy for all of the work and money he had put into his own arm in the first place, so he had agreed to help however he could. That, in retrospect, had been an enormous mistake.

It had started with an 0630 wake-up call from JARVIS, only to find hair and make-up artists already waiting in the living room of the floor in Avengers tower that Steve and Bucky were sharing. They dolled him up as had been determined appropriate, leaving Bucky feeling sticky and ridiculous and Steve far too amused, especially considering his own history on the stage, which Bucky frequently and grumpily brought up. Once he'd been deemed camera-ready, Bucky was dragged upstairs to one of the floors of the marketing department, dressed up in gym clothes (which he thought completely defeated the purpose of all of the make-up, but no one was asking for his opinion), then put through literal hours of photo shoots, capturing his arm from all angles, both in poses and in action shots. They'd finished by dressing him up in a replica of the suit he had worn during the Battle for New York – he still had a similar one for SHIELD events and the occasions that he and Steve made charity trips to children's hospitals – and getting a final round of photos, before finally setting him free for lunch.

Stark had intercepted him immediately, of course, dragging both Bucky and Steve off to some random deli in Midtown to eat before they had to return to the tower for the afternoon program. Thankfully, Steve had agreed to suit up and join them as well, taking some of the pain out of the media circus, but it had still been a trying few hours. The kids had all been well-behaved enough, and it had been wonderful to see so many children who would otherwise not have had functioning limbs have their lives changed by receiving such remarkable tech. Even better was the knowledge that because of the modifications Stark had made to the manufacturing process, the line of prostheses would be cheap enough that the vast majority of people who needed them in the States would be able to afford them. All the same, Bucky had found himself with less and less tolerance for crowds since the war, and keeping up the friendly, normal act for an extended period of time was proving to be more grueling than any mission was nowadays. So when they had finally dismissed the media that had been covering the event and signed the last of the memorabilia that the kids had wanted it was an enormous relief.

And now came the culmination – they were given a couple of hours to themselves to change and decompress from the day, while Tony did his best to wrangle up the old crew. Or, at least, buy enough pizza that Barton would be lured over from his place in Bed Stuy… in all likelihood Romanoff would follow, provided she wasn't on assignment in another continent. And for the rest – well, Bucky would let Tony worry about the party details. All he cared at the moment was that he would be able to avoid dealing with strangers again until their return to DC.

Finally, Steve made his way out of his bedroom, rolling up the right sleeve on his blue dress shirt. Bucky felt his mouth go dry, swallowing thickly as he gave himself a single second to appreciate how good his friend looked in modern-day clothing before pushing it all to its usual lock-down spot in the back of his mind. It was a feat that seemed to be getting increasingly more difficult – he'd been struggling his entire life with trying to downplay his inappropriate feelings for Steve, but now that they spent nearly all of their time together, and both had the means to really pay attention to what they wore and how they looked, well… Steve looked even more incredible than usual. All the damned time.

Bucky schooled his face as Steve finished with the sleeve, glancing up with a warm smile and standing still as he looked at him. "I like the shirt," he finally ended up saying, his cheeks coloring slightly, "you ready to go?"

"Ready as I'm going to be," Bucky responded dryly, "let's get up there – it can't be any worse than the rest of the day has been."

Upstairs was considerably more sedate than either of them had been expecting, much to Bucky's relief. Barton was seated on one of the couches in the center of the room, dutifully guarding the stacks of pizza boxes that were piled on the table in front of him, while Romanoff and Stark were talking by the bar in the corner of the room. There was no one else to be found – apparently Banner had been staying away from New York on principle, and Thor was still busy enjoying civilian life with his girl in London, as far as they all knew. It was incredibly nice, though… they'd settled in on the couches at the center of the room, shooting the shit and falling into a comfortable banter as they shared pizzas and beers. Although he and Steve saw Romanoff and Barton fairly regularly for SHIELD missions, it was the first time that they'd been together as a group since New York, and Bucky found himself unwinding easily, genuinely enjoying the evening as it went on.

Considering the company, he should have known better than to have expected it to last.

"Oh wait, wait," Stark grinned, before calling out, "J – pull up twitter on the big screen, would you? Bucky needs to see the video that's been trending all afternoon… I'm pretty sure it's responsible for a fifteen dollar rise in StarkTech shares since it first went online."

Before Bucky could protest, the screen in front of them lit up, immediately loading a clip of a boy fitted in one of the StarkTech arms they had unveiled today, the plates brushed with chrome paint and with the decal of familiar blue wings on the deltoid. The reporter responsible for the piece asked him who his favorite super hero was, to which he proudly responded "Bucky Barnes!" before the clip cut to the two of them meeting one another in the press room, sharing a fist-bump with their matching prostheses while cameras flashed like mad.

"I'm telling you, Barnes… forget about SHIELD, I'll hire you on the spot for StarkTech marketing. Name your price." Tony insisted with a grin as the screen went dark.

"I'm gonna have to pass, Tony," Bucky had responded easily, rolling his eyes at the pleading look Stark sent him in response. "Seriously – not that I don't appreciate it, but if you think about it, it's better for me to be in the field showing off what the arm can do, anyway. I wouldn't exactly be anyone's favorite superhero if they only saw me posing in magazines, right?"

"Fair enough," Tony sighed, and for one second Bucky was foolish enough to be relieved that he'd gotten off the hook; only for the conversation to move into even more awkward territory. "Speaking of –" Stark continued, "we need to get you a better code name, Buckaroo. You're the only one of us without one, and as charming and whimsical as Bucky Barnes sounds…"

"Thor doesn't have a nickname," Bucky pointed out.

"No, but he's a Norse God so we can make exceptions," Tony responded smartly. Bucky rolled his eyes but otherwise didn't comment. "Come onnnnnnnn, let's come up with one – it'll be fun."

"Buck's already got a badass code name," Barton said lazily, his eyes going wide as Romanoff kicked him roughly underneath the coffee table.

"Wait, what? And you've been holding out on us?" Stark asked, feigning being hurt.

Next to him, Bucky felt Steve tense up. He'd have given anything to have avoided this conversation, especially with Tony, given how much the entire deal clearly bothered his friend. "It's classified, Tony – we can't start using it, anyway."

"SHIELD gave you a code name? You've got an official, badass, government-sponsored superhero name and you've been holding out on me?" Stark whined, setting his drink aside and becoming even more annoying. "Come on, I wanna hear it; there's no point making a new one up if you've already got one."

"If we told you," Romanoff pointed out, "we'd have to kill you."

"Oh please," Stark responded, rolling his eyes dramatically. "I'm still a SHIELD consultant, you know, I have just as high of security clearances as the rest of you. Besides… it isn't as if I couldn't just hack their mainframe and find the records, anyway."

Bucky sighed, knowing that he was right. While he didn't want to tell Tony, or to even have the conversation in the first place, he figured that giving the man what he wanted would at least limit the amount of time they had to spend discussing the damned thing. "The Winter Soldier," he finally said blankly.

There was a beat of silence around the room as Bucky avoided looking into anyone's eyes, before Stark snorted quietly. "Seriously? That's what you're keeping so hush-hush." He looked around at them all incredulously before continuing, "Am I missing a reference? It sounds familiar…"

"It's from Thomas Paine," Steve responded stiffly. "It's a play on what he wrote in The American Crisis, a contrast to the Summer Soldier and the Sunshine Patriot."

Stark frowned at that, studying Steve's face far too closely for Bucky's liking. "So – he's a contrast to you? Why are we all looking so upset over Bucky Bear's ominous historical nickname…"

Bucky scrubbed his face tiredly before simply spelling it out. "The Winter Soldier does the things that the Sunshine Patriot can't do; the dirty things necessary for the country to become greater."

"So the state-sponsored assassinations." Stark said it so bluntly that Bucky couldn't begin to think of a way to refute him. "And they make a joke of it with your code name. Sounds like SHIELD, alright."

"Don't start, Stark," Barton groaned.

"I'm just saying… how many snipers could one government organization need? Isn't this making you worried about your job security, bird man?"

"Nah…" Barton said lazily, "we run considerably different missions."

"Barely even train together anymore," Romanoff chimed in, "it's sad, honestly – you can't exactly find opportunities to study wounded male egos like that anywhere else."

Stark simply rolled his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest.

"It's true, Tony – an arrow in a target leaves a pretty obvious mark as to who was responsible, so for covert ops the bow won't do," Bucky responded sardonically, gesturing towards Clint with his beer. "And Barton's a shit shot with a rifle."

"Hey!" Barton yelled with a frown, "That's not remotely true. Jeez, a guy beats your course record one time and he thinks he's the hottest shot that ever lived…"

"Pretty sure it was more than once, Barton," Bucky responded with a laugh, "and when it's by more than twenty points, it hardly matters."

"I don't have to take this kinda abuse," Barton muttered, reaching up and flipping the switches on his hearing aids then slipping them into his pocket, before adding in a slightly garbled tone, "buncha dicks."

They'd all chuckled at that, and as was usually the case with making fun of Clint, finally moved on to less divisive topics. At some point they'd decided to throw a movie on, and Tony had freaked out over the realization that he hadn't gotten a cake for Bucky, leading to him and Romanoff running out of the room to work out a way to procure one, despite his insistence that it was really not a problem.

Bucky excused himself to use the restroom a few minutes later, making his way through the common room but pausing when he heard furious whispering coming from the area near the closed-off bar. He knew he probably shouldn't be eavesdropping on whatever it was Romanoff and Stark were discussing, but Bucky was still more than a little sore over the stunt that Tony had pulled at the end of the previous year, taking on a terrorist organization entirely on his own instead of reaching out to any of them for help. Granted… he was pretty sure that he and Steve had been on a mission with Romanoff in the South Pacific at the time, but it had been the principle of it all. Even half a world away on a mission, Bucky would have done whatever he could to help a friend in danger, especially one who'd done as much for him as Tony had.

So he silently leaned back against the wall, holding his breath and using his enhanced sense of hearing to catch the rest of their conversation. He'd blame his paranoia on years of having to pull Steve out of trouble, if he had to, and made a mental note to think on what it meant about him, that he had such a tendency to surround himself with completely reckless idiots.

"Come on, Nat, you can't deny that something is going on there," Tony muttered insistently. "I love Rhodey with my whole damned heart, but what we have is different than the two of them." He paused for a moment as Romanoff stared at him stonily, before adding, "You know as well as I do that if they'd been born in the eighties, they'd be marching on the Capital demanding marriage equality."

"Pretty sure Rogers has already done that one," Romanoff responded with a bored tone, rolling her eyes as Tony choked on his drink. "Oh come on, Stark – there's no way that's a surprise to you. He fights for truth, justice, and the American way; of course he's going to be willing to protest for equal rights of all citizens. Besides," she added with a small grin, "I'm pretty positive he and Barnes have a bet going as to who can cause Bill O'Reilly to have a stroke first."

Stark chuckled at that, "Okay, fine – you're right, that does sound like Rogers. But the fact still remains – I can't just sit back and continue watching them make moon eyes at one another. Barnes is a good guy, I like him, and watching him pine like a deprived puppy hurts me, it really does."

"Listen, Tony: I'm only going to say this once," Romanoff finally said sternly. "Even if you are right – which I'm not going to comment on, because it's none of my business – they need to figure it out on their own. If we start poking our nose in it, it's going to blow up in all of our faces, and regardless of what's going on between the two of them, the team doesn't need that kind of tension."

Bucky missed whatever Stark's response was as his heart started pounding so hard that he couldn't hear much of anything over the rush of blood in his ears. He had honestly thought that he'd been good with keeping his feelings for Steve to himself – he may not have the same paranoia that he'd had in the forties, when keeping such unnatural thoughts buried were legitimately a life-or-death situation, but his diligence had still been there. And, granted, Stark and Romanoff were two of the people that he spent the most time with (outside of Steve, of course), if they were concerned that something was up… who else could tell? Steve had made no indication that he noticed anything off with Bucky, but if someone were to figure it out and tell him; Bucky didn't even want to consider the potential implications for their friendship.

He took a few deep, calming breaths, swallowing his panic down before pushing himself away from the wall and returning to the common room, where Steve was still sprawled on the couch, his focus completely on the movie that Bucky had completely lost track of. Thankfully, Barton looked to be sleeping in the armchair he was draped across.

"I'm beat," Bucky said shortly, quietly enough that he wouldn't wake Barton who appeared to have slipped his hearing aids back in, "I think I'm going to just head down to bed."

Steve frowned slightly, looking up at Bucky in the flickering light from the television. "Are you sure? I thought Tony was trying to get a cake up here…"

"I dunno where they ended up," Bucky lied, "but I'm not much in the mood for sweets, anyway. You can stay, if you want…"

"No, it's fine," Steve insisted, already rolling to his feet and making his way towards Bucky. "I'm good to go if you want to – our train leaves early enough tomorrow morning, anyway, wouldn't hurt to get a good night's shut eye."

Bucky had half a mind to insist that Steve stay, not feeling entirely comfortable being in close contact with his friend at the time, but of course he couldn't bring himself to say it, especially as Steve's shoulder bumped against his own on the way to the elevator. "You alright?" He asked softly, a concerned frown forming between his eyebrows as they stepped into the light.

"Fine, just tired," Bucky lied again, focusing his attention entirely on the elevator door as it closed in front of him. Clearly he had to do something, as his age-old attempt at simply ignoring his feelings for Steve wasn't cutting it any more. By the time they'd reached their floor, he had the beginnings of a pretty good idea in mind, and locked himself away in his room with a quiet good night to ruminate on it.


	15. Chapter 15: April 2014

**AN:** Sam Wilson recounts 9 months of getting to know Bucky better, featuring PTSD support groups, how being overly-nice lead to becoming an unwitting therapist, and the story of how he got stuck in the middle of a super soldier soap opera.

* * *

Sam hadn't been surprised when he realized that three weeks had passed after their initial meeting a single email from Barnes.

Disappointed, yes, although he told himself it was primarily out of concern for the poor guy. But then, it stood to reason that SHIELD, or whoever was responsible for the super soldiers now, should have far more advanced counseling services for their members than whatever Sam and the Greater Metropolitan DC branch of the Veterans Administration office could offer; at the end of the day Sam tried to think of it as a good sign.

So when he'd logged into his work computer on a Monday morning in late October to find an email from a _J.B. Barnes_ , it had most definitely been a shock. He'd remained sat in his uncomfortable desk chair, staring at the request for information and schedules for VA PTSD groups for a few minutes, before finally responding with the requested information, attaching the electronic version of the brochure they had available in the lobby listing their goals and services, as well as the link to their website and a listing of his own therapy group sessions, and those of his two coworkers. After dropping a few not-at-all subtle hints regarding their professional therapists as well, Sam had finally sent the email off.

That evening he'd received a brief but polite thank you email in return, and half-expected it to be the end of it all. And then "Jim Grant" showed up at his first Wednesday night meeting in November.

Barnes had done a hell of a job blending in: he wore a baseball cap pulled low to shield his eyes, a large sweatshirt and jacket that did a good job of hiding his frankly ridiculous muscle mass, and between the way he kept his left hand in his pocket the entire time and the awkward, stiff angle that he held the arm at, Sam would have expected a typical barely-mobile prosthesis under it, rather than the incredible custom cybernetic arm that Barnes was known for. Like most new veterans he had sneaked in a few minutes before start time and took a seat in the back near the door. He'd kept completely to himself during discussion, and no one in the crowd even raised an eyebrow when he'd bolted for the door at 20:00 on the dot, without having so much as introduced himself. Participation was entirely voluntary, of course, and most new members needed at least a few meetings before they felt comfortable speaking in front of the group. Sam watched him closely as he went, and thankfully was able to catch his eye as Barnes paused in the door, giving him an encouraging grin and nod before he disappeared into the hallway.

Sam had received another 'Thank You' email from Barnes very late that night, though. In it, he said that he had been surprised by how much people were willing to share with the group, and that he hoped that he would eventually be able to unload in the same way, especially if Sam thought it would actually help. Sam was very careful to point out in his reply that it could be a beneficial part of the healing process for many vets, and that the group was a very supportive and confidential one – but that if he needed more in-depth, one-on-one talk therapy, that Barnes would need to look into formal counseling.

And just like that, Sam had a new regular PTSD support group member.

Five meetings in 'Jim' had finally introduced himself, saying that he'd been special ops and had spent a few years in active combat.

The next morning Sam arrived to another email in his inbox, this one long and rambling about Barnes' struggles with having lost men, especially those in the POW camp his surrender had lead to in the first place. When he'd finally reached the end (and there was a lot of heavy shit that Sam was certain he'd never been taught in US History), Sam had noticed the timestamp on the email – 03:41. He sighed heavily, locked his computer screen, and made his way to the staff lounge for a much-needed cup of coffee before he tackled the response.

Two weeks later 'Jim' was willing to speak vaguely about being held as a POW, largely focusing on how thinking about his buddy being safe back home had kept him alive and sane during his time in captivity, how the idea of coming back to him some day had made whatever the enemy could come up with worth enduring, and ultimately how hard it had been when he'd come to find out his friend had joined the war as well. There was a murmur of commiseration that went around the room when Jim confessed that he felt like he's worried about his friends in his unit ever since, like the stress of holding it together for them and trying to keep them all safe still hung over his head, even after being back for years.

His email to Sam that night had confessed that he had no idea how to help said friend, and that he'd refused to join Barnes at group, no matter how many times Bucky had tried to talk him into it. Sam couldn't exactly blame Rogers for that… there were definitely a few group members at this point who had to have recognized Barnes, despite his attempts at disguising himself and the vague ways that he talked about his time at war. But if Captain Freaking America were to walk into the VA – well, there was no question that everyone would recognize him instantly. And while Sam knew that their group would be good for keeping secrets: they had all dealt with their shit and were willing to talk at length about their struggles, they would never go spilling someone else's, regardless of how good the pay-out might be; there was no way Rogers could know that. And considering it was common knowledge that both he and Barnes were still serving, their fitness for service could be called into question if the general public found out they were both trying to get treatment for PTSD.

So yeah, Sam got it. Once again, he tried to sell the idea of individual, professional counseling on Barnes. Once again, he got a polite but clearly disinterested refusal.

After three months of regular group attendance, Barnes was comfortable enough to participate in other's discussions. Unfortunately, when Sheryl, their latest Army grunt to come back from Iraq, brought up her frequent insomnia, Jim's recommendation was to 'camp out' on a bed roll in her living room, as it regularly worked for him and his 'buddy.' Sam jumped in, thanking Jim for his input and encouraging others for their own ideas, doing his damndest to pull attention away from the fact that Bucky Barnes just announced to the group that he camped indoors on bedrolls with Captain America when their insomnia got the best of them, an occurrence which he made sound to be pretty regular. He caught Bucky's eye when the meeting came to a close, thankfully grabbing his attention and inviting him out to lunch the next afternoon if he had a moment free, figuring it was time to finally discuss his concerns in person.

They'd been able to make the following afternoon work, and met up at a deli near the VA, chatting easily over sandwiches as they talked about how Bucky felt his meetings had been going. Barnes was an amicable enough guy and Sam found himself legitimately enjoying the conversation – until the uncomfortable topic of why Sam had asked him out in the first place came up. "I just worry is all." Sam explained evenly, "It isn't that I don't want you in group, I just don't want you to miss out on more appropriate resources."

"Look," Barnes sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with the fingers of his right hand. "I get it, okay, I know I'm messed up, I know you think I need more help. But I don't really see how a head-shrinker is gonna do anything more for me than group already has, and I like talking in group. It's been good to get this shit off my chest, to know that other people are goin' through similar stuff." He shrugged nonchalantly and picked off a bite of his sandwich. "Besides – if I need one-on-one talk, I can just come to you, right?"

It was exactly what Sam had been afraid of. "Look man," he sighed, "I'm not a therapist. I don't have the formal education or training for it, and certainly not to properly help someone with as many issues as you have – no offense." Bucky had shrugged instead of trying to deny the obvious. "But…" Sam continued, against his better judgment, "I can be a friend."

It wasn't that Sam didn't want to be Bucky's friend – on the contrary, the better that he got to know the guy, the more that he liked him. But, as predicted, the more that they hung out, the more Bucky unloaded his problems on Sam, as well as his concerns about Steve, which seemed to be constant. Finally, Sam had taken up Bucky on his offer to come around for dinner at their place, in the hopes of getting to know Steve better as well. As a rule, Sam gave him the old not a therapist speech, even though he knew it probably fell on deaf ears.

He should have known something was up the second he walked into their apartment and saw the shit-eating grin on Bucky's face. "Stevie's in the kitchen," he explained excitedly, "we've been cooking up our favorites, you're the first guest we've had… well, I think ever."

Their favorites, as it turned out, smelled – quite frankly, horrifying.

"Fried Spam and colcannon," Rogers had exclaimed with a beaming grin, poking his head around the corner of what Sam assumed was the entry to the kitchen.

"Er – colcannon?"

"Smashed potatoes and boiled cabbage," Barnes explained, taking Sam's coat. "It's an Irish specialty – Steve's ma was an immigrant."

Sam barely managed to keep a straight face at the explanation, silently reminding himself on loop about the importance of cultural appreciation and the rules of being a good houseguest. In reality, it was the knowledge that his own mama would beat Sam's ass if she found out that he'd turned his nose up at a home-cooked dinner from a pair of new friends, especially if said friends were Captain America and Bucky Barnes, which kept Sam's reaction limited to a pleasant smile and some vague "Sounds good."

Sam and Bucky made small talk in the living room for a few minutes (and damn if their apartment wasn't really, really nice – Sam couldn't help being impressed, despite the wreaking coming from the kitchen), before Steve finally made his way into the living room, a look of bemused disappointment on his face. "Really? Nothin'?"

Bucky laughed and shrugged. Sam looked between the two of them, confused.

"Ah – we were pullin' your leg about the food, honestly. We both figured you'd raise a stink about the idea of eating canned meat and boiled cabbage, so we were planning on eventually ordering a pizza." Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"And waste the food?" Sam asked, frankly surprised by the admission.

"Er, no… it reheats alright; we'd just eat it on our own, later." Bucky explained.

Sam insisted on eating home-cooking hot, and so told them both to bring their Depression Era finest on, before all of them settled in with Star Wars playing on the TV. The food was, surprisingly, not terrible.

January rolled into February, and without really intending for it Sam's weekly lunches with Bucky and bi-monthly dinners with the both of them were becoming a tradition. Bucky continued to attend Wednesday night groups religiously, while Steve continued to deny any interest in either group or individual therapy.

Then things started getting difficult. Sam had noticed that Bucky seemed to have rough patches from the beginning, that there were days when he seemed worn and quiet, rather than being his usual talkative self. Initially, Sam didn't think much of it – anyone could have bad days, which was especially true for someone who'd been through as much trauma, and then internalized it all for as long as Bucky had. After one particularly bad spell lasted for over a week, though, Sam brought it up at their next lunch together.

Bucky hesitated for a long moment, mulling the question over before responding. "I've had a couple of solo missions, lately." He said evasively, "And I can't go into the details cuz they're all classified, so don't ask. They've just been… hard."

Sam frowned in response, before asking gently, "Because they're disturbing in themselves, because they're bringing up bad memories from before, or both?"

Bucky's entire face scrunched in discomfort. "Both, I guess… I dunno. It'll be fine, I'm used to it. I just need some time to get over it, is all." Sam opened his mouth to respond, but Bucky rushed ahead to change the topic, cheerfully adding, "Steve and I finally got around to watching the new Star Trek the other night – it was pretty terrible."

Sam wanted to discourage the deflection, he really did, but he decided to let it go in this situation. If anyone was used to taking on uncomfortable solo missions it was apparently Barnes – multiple times he'd alluded to the fact that he'd had to carry out nasty shit that couldn't be tagged on Captain America's name during World War II, so it was unfortunate but hardly surprising to hear that the tradition had carried on. Instead of harping on the topic now, Sam figured he'd just pay closer attention to his friend's progress, and followed his lead in changing the topic to crappy reboots of classic sci-fi shows.

By the beginning of March, it seemed like Bucky had hit a plateau. He still participated in group sessions, still had lunch a few times a month with Sam and invited him over to dinner with him and Steve every other Sunday. But his periods of withdrawal seemed more pronounced, and the shadows under his eyes grew progressively darker, until finally Sam couldn't ignore them anymore.

"Something's got you down," he pointed out over lunch-hour tacos. "And it's getting worse."

Bucky sighed, crunching a tortilla chip between his metal fingers, not bothering to even attempt to deny it. "Work's been… rough. And it ain't giving me enough downtime to decompress like you said, you know? So it all just kinda – spirals."

"Have you thought about saying as much to your superiors?" Sam asked nonchalantly, as if he hadn't suggested the idea of Bucky leaving SHIELD a million times in the past couple of months.

"And do what?" Bucky asked with a frown, dropping the last of his tortilla crumbs back to his plate.

Having finally gotten a response other than a vague refusal, Sam jumped on the question. "Literally whatever you want, man." He said with a comforting smile. "There are so many things outside of fighting that you could do."

Despite his enthusiasm, all he received from Bucky was a blank stare.

"Honestly, Bucky, let's think about it." Sam continued, undeterred by the attitude. "What makes you happy… and don't say something that makes Steve happy, or keeps him safe, or any other cop-out bullshit like that. What things make you happy?"

Bucky pushed the salsa that had spilled onto his appetizer plate around with his spoon for a while, frowning at the patterns he made as he thought on the question. There had been a couple of times that he had started to open his mouth as if to answer, but after a few minutes Sam figured he'd switch methods.

"Alright, let's try another way of thinking about it… let's pretend things turned out better, that the two of you came back to New York in 1947. What does Bucky Barnes do to live happily ever after?"

Barnes shrugged and pushed his small plate away. "Finds a job," he started vaguely, "plans Steve's bachelor party, stands up in his wedding to Peggy, is godfather to their kids and tries his best to avoid the bottle for the rest of his life."

Sam stared at him for a beat before blowing out a long, low breath, trying his best not to let the answer defeat him as well. Truth be told, he was so far out of his depth it wasn't funny – but after literal months of trying to get Barnes involved with a proper therapist, Sam knew better than to bother wasting his breath.

"Alright," he started slowly, "Okay – you know that ain't gonna cut it, right?"

Bucky sighed, shaking his head. "I figured – I'm sorry. I guess – I guess I never really thought about it, honestly. I never expected to come back; totally expected to die over there. So now… not only to come back, but to come back like we did? I can't imagine doing anything other than covering Steve's back, same as I always have."

Well – at least he was being honest. "Fine." Sam responded simply. "You've got homework for the week, then. I want you to do your damndest to come up with something else. Literally anything else that you can think of; it doesn't even have to be a job idea, even if it's just a hobby it'll work. Then when you're ready, you let me know and I'll do whatever you need me to do to help you work on it, alright?"

Bucky gave him a skeptical look, but otherwise quietly agreed to do his best, then proceeded to chatter about pointless topics for the rest of their meal.

Sam wondered if he'd been out of place in voicing his concerns, when a couple of weeks passed with Bucky missing his regular Wednesday night meetings. He'd saw him on TV promoting Stark's new line of prosthetics, so at least Sam knew he was alright, instead of off on some mission or worse. Still, when even the emails failed to show up in Sam's inbox, he couldn't help but worry. There were multiple times during the third week of March when Sam would have an email half-composed to check-in on his friend, only to tell himself to stop mother-henning and close out of the compose window.

It was the second week of April when, finally, Bucky showed up in Sam's Tuesday morning PTSD group. On one hand, he was confused as to why Bucky would switch meeting times, knowing full-well the benefit that came with staying with the same group of people. All the same, Sam was so glad to see him again that he left it be, instead giving him an encouraging grin from the podium before launching into the day's topics.

Bucky had kept to himself for the most part during the meeting, introducing himself sociably and vaguely referring to his combat experience in passing, but as the group wrapped up he was practically vibrating excitement, and hovered around at the back of the room as he waited for the other attendees to finish speaking to Sam before approaching.

"Are you free for a bit?" He asked excitedly once the last member had finally cleared out. "Could we just – grab coffee or something?"

Sam had a metric shit-ton of work to do, truth be told, but after so much radio silence from both Bucky and Steve he didn't want to miss out on the opportunity to catch up – and saying no in the face of so much clear hope was something Sam had never been particularly good at. His sister warned him on the regular that Sam was too nice… what was one more instance of proving her wrong going to hurt? Twenty minutes later he found himself in the Starbucks around the corner, absently sipping his latte as Bucky finally picked his order up from the barista and made his way over.

"Ya know – prices in the grocery store were a big enough shock to get used to, but I don't think I'll ever get over how much a fuckin' cup of coffee costs nowadays," Bucky said with a rueful smile, shaking his head as he took his seat across from Sam. He tore the packaging of about 4 packets of Sugar in the Raw, dumping them all into his large Americano as he continued ranting. "Seriously, four bucks. For a plain coffee – our place was a half-condemned shoebox, but that's only a dollar less than I used to pay in rent when Steve and I got our first place in '41."

"Firstly, you'll have to forgive me for not being able to suspend my belief long enough to wrap my head around the idea of five dollar a month rent in New York, regardless of the year," Sam responded drolly, before gesturing towards Bucky with his coffee cup. "And secondly – I really highly doubt you invited me out here to discuss the cost of coffee throughout the years."

Barnes cheeks colored at that, and he dropped his eyes as he secured the lid on his cup, swirling the liquid inside of it a few times before quietly agreeing to Sam's point. "No, you're right – I… actually, I wanted to talk about my homework. I've been doin' a lot of thinking about what you asked. About what makes me happy, or at least what used to."

Sam nodded and raised his eyebrows, glad to hear that his recommendation hadn't been completely blown off in Bucky's time incommunicado, and otherwise waited quietly for him to continue at his own pace.

Barnes took a deep breath, his brow furrowing in worry before admitting quietly. "I've always liked dancing. Music is great to listen to, but – I always had a good time going out, being able to dance and neck and just have a time with the people and the music in a dance hall, the way it was supposed to be enjoyed."

"That's a good start," Sam encouraged with a smile. "So – have you had a chance to go out and try it since? Take a night for yourself… hell, if we looked into it, we could probably find places that would still play music from your day – although the dancers are likely to be a little on the older side…"

"I haven't bothered since we woke up," Barnes interrupted. "I'm not great with crowds anyway, and Steve never liked 'em so he's not chomping to get out. I guess I've just been ignoring the fact that I missed it."

"So what changed?" Sam prompted gently. "Other than my giving you homework to figure something out."

Bucky laughed humorlessly. "We've got a… co-worker. She's set on trying to get Steve and me dates. Or – get Steve one, at least. She usually just tries to pass the dames – ladies – off on me when Steve refuses them."

Sam kept his face carefully neutral as he listened, not wanting his own response to color Bucky's answers. "So – what? She thinks you guys need to get out more?"

"Well, yeah – but Steve's still so hung up on Peggy that he's never gonna take her up on it. He was never much for dating, anyway." Bucky responded with a shrug.

"But… you want to?" Sam asked bluntly. Dating hadn't exactly been what he'd had in mind when he'd told Bucky to think of a hobby – it generally wasn't a great idea to start relying on outside relationships to try to get a handle over what's going on in your own head – but something casual like dancing that could give him a healthy distraction was progress, at least.

Bucky shifted in his seat, looking supremely uncomfortable with the route the conversation was going. "I do… I just…" He made a vague gesture with his hand, apparently unable to explain his hang-up.

"Is it because you don't have an interest in sex right now?" Sam guessed. "Because of...everything else? Because it's totally normal for a soldier dealing with stress to…"

"Christ, Sam, no. No, it's nothin' about trauma or… anything like that." Bucky answered, looking around to make sure no one was listening in on them as his neck flushed spectacularly.

Sam sat in silence, not wanting to try another guess. He knew well enough that if he continued offering a sympathetic ear, Bucky would volunteer the information – without Sam making him even more uncomfortable than he already had.

Bucky heaved an almighty sigh, apparently picking up that Sam wasn't going to bail him out from whatever it was that was bothering him. He looked around carefully again, before leaning into the table and continuing in a low voice, "It's cuz I never really liked making time with women to begin with."

It took Sam a second to put together what he meant, but when he did he felt his jaw drop. It really shouldn't have come as that big a surprise, especially given the way that Bucky and Steve interacted with one another, and how ridiculously devoted Barnes was to his 'friend.' But still, hearing him say it outright like that, Sam's mouth ended up moving before his brain could catch up. "Oh. OH."

Bucky frowned spectacularly, his posture becoming tense as he looked up and made eye-contact with Sam for the first time. "I thought that was fine, now… for…"

Sam waived his hands, realizing that he was failing to employ any and all sensitivity training he had ever received. "No, dude, it is. It totally is. I mean, there are some jackass bigots who make a big deal of it, but anyone who matters is completely cool with same-sex relationships."

Bucky continued watching him, his look so skeptical that Sam continued to lay it on with the reassurances. "Seriously, Bucky. If you wanna go out on a date, or even just go dancing with another dude, it is one hundred percent okay."

Bucky bit his lip, staring at his coffee cup and nodding absently for a few moments before replying. "Alright. That's… thanks, Sam." He frowned as he went back to fiddling with the cardboard sleeve, before adding, "I don't want Steve to know."

"That," Sam responded automatically, "is a spectacularly bad idea, my friend."

Bucky opened his mouth to retort, but Sam continued on – there was no possible way Steve Rogers would have a problem with his best friend's sexuality, Sam was sure of it, and keeping it all a secret wouldn't turn out well for any of them. "Seriously, you guys work together and live together – he's gonna find out. And when he does, he's going to want to know why you wouldn't tell him, first."

"I've never told anybody other than you," Bucky responded tightly.

Sam closed his mouth abruptly, recognizing the enormity of that statement and backing off for a second in deference to the courage it would have taken Barnes to admit as much in the first place. "Okay, okay man – that's no problem. I mean… I really appreciate your trusting me enough to tell me, Bucky, I'm serious. And I wouldn't tell anyone you didn't want me to, okay?" He said it as fervently as possible, and was glad to see him relax at least marginally in his seat as he nodded. "This just – as close as the two of you are, this isn't something that you should try to keep from Steve for too long, that's all I'm worried about."

Bucky sighed, worrying his lip for a moment as he finished completely shredding the sleeve of his coffee cup. "No, I know that. And I'll tell him eventually, I just need more time to figure out how to. I really, really don't want to fuck it up, you know?"

Sam bit back on pointing out that he wouldn't fuck it up as long as he was just honest, instead saying encouragingly, "I get it, I really do. If you ever feel like you need help…"

"I know," Bucky responded, rolling his eyes as he did.

"But back to the topic," Sam diverted. "Are you saying you want to try dating again?"

Bucky shrugged, looking a bit less uncomfortable, at least. "I dunno about that – maybe? I'm just saying I know I liked dancing; I like the idea that I could maybe go out and do it with someone I'm actually attracted to without worrying about getting my head smashed in or arrested or worse."

"Alright," Sam responded with a grin, "let's get you out to a dance club, and see how it goes."

"That's it?" Bucky asked, his eyes going wide in alarm. "There's not… some special way fellas are supposed to ask each other out?"

"I mean – if you're looking for a guy to go steady with I suppose we could set you up with a match account or something," Sam answered thoughtfully.

"No." Bucky interrupted immediately, shaking his head. "No… I'm not – looking for that."

Sam nodded sagely, more or less having expected the response. "Then no, if you're just looking to casually have a good time with someone, all you have to do is get gussied up and go out to meet people. Guys or ladies, it really doesn't matter."

Bucky raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his coffee, apparently still not buying it.

"Seriously," Sam insisted, "there have got to be at least five gay clubs within walking distance of your neighborhood. I'll ask a couple of buddies which one they think is best. Hell, I'll come out with you."

"But you aren't…"

Sam shook his head. "I'm pretty much straight, but I'm not exactly narrow. And that's beside the point – I'm a hell of a wingman, alright? I swear, I'll make sure you have a good time." Bucky raised his eyebrows at that, and Sam laughed as he continued. "You know what I mean, smartass."

Bucky laughed as well, before finally relaxing completely into his seat. "Yeah, alright. Okay, why the hell not?" It sounded an awful lot like he was psyching himself into it, so Sam remained quiet. "You free on Thursday?"

Thursday night found Sam waiting near the velvet ropes of a club in Logan Circle, dicking around on his cell phone and hoping that Bucky would actually show up as planned. He'd arrived fairly early, but the longer that he stood outside waiting, the more that Sam worried Barnes would chicken out on the idea of a night out. He was preparing to shoot him a text to ask for an ETA, when he glanced up and saw a familiar face making its way up the street.

Bucky had cleaned up incredibly well; his hair was styled in that seemingly careless messy fashion that was in style, and it was warm enough that he'd left his leather jacket open to reveal a sheer navy blue t-shirt that showed off his ridiculous musculature and made his eyes look stupidly blue, even in the dark streetlights. He'd paired it with tight black jeans and dark ankle boots – enough heads turned as he walked past the line waiting to get in that Sam sincerely doubted his services would be needed to get Bucky a partner.

"Hey man," Sam said with a grin as he approached, "I was starting to worry you weren't gonna show…"

Barnes gave him a casual shrug, glancing at the watch he had on his left wrist – Sam missed whatever it was that he replied with, too busy being surprised by the fact that it looked like a flesh-and-blood hand coming out of his jacket sleeve. After a couple of seconds of staring Bucky must have picked up on his surprise, his smile turning bashful as he shoved the hand back in his pocket. "Ah – SHIELD made a cloaking device for the arm to use on undercover missions. It's a hologram… technically I'm not allowed to have it when I'm off-duty, but I figured what they don't know can't hurt 'em."

Sam chuckled at that, figuring that he couldn't deny that it was a good idea; the last thing Bucky needed was some dickhead snapping a picture of his arm and outing him to a tabloid rag – it was probably something Sam should have considered himself. "My lips are sealed, dude," he responded pleasantly, before leading the way towards the front of the line. He'd called in a couple of favors and gotten them on the list for the night, Bucky under a fake name that he apparently had ID for (thanks again to SHIELD), and a few minutes later they were already at coat check, stowing their phones and wallets in their jeans before handing their jackets over for safe-keeping.

The hologram covered the entirety of Bucky's metal arm – Sam knew from pictures that the whole limb was a prosthetic, but even looking for it he couldn't see where the metal should have met skin. It wasn't just synthetic skin, though; an elaborate half-sleeve of steampunk plating and cogs looked like it was inked into the synthetic skin, with an enormous blue wing design peeking out from underneath the sleeve of his t-shirt.

"Nice touch," Sam said honestly, pointing to the ink.

Bucky followed his finger before giving a shy shrug; even in the dark light of the club, Sam could tell he was blushing as he replied, "Thanks – I didn't want to give it all up completely, y'know?"

"I like it," Sam replied decisively, before leading them both to the bar nearest to the dance floor.

Sam ordered a drink of his own, before turning to Bucky expectantly. "I'm good," Bucky shouted over the music, but Sam wasn't having it.

"Come on, man… I'll get this one. Whatever you want."

After some hemming and hawing, Bucky finally ordered a whiskey neat, sipping it as he turned to watch the dance floor.

"Anyone catching your eye?" Sam leaned in and asked after a few minutes.

Bucky shrugged, eyes still on the floor as he threw back the rest of his liquor. "Maybe," he finally replied, "although not one of you knows how to dance…this is pitiful."

Sam laughed hard at that, shaking his head and elbowing Bucky in the ribs. "Alright then, old man… go out and show us how it's done."

Bucky smirked for a bit, eyes roving the floor one last time before he turned and dropped his glass on the bar. "I guess someone has to," he drawled, before pushing away from the bar and striding confidently through the crush of dancing bodies, apparently prowling for a partner.

It took approximately four seconds for the guys on the floor to notice him, and as Sam had expected he was bombarded with dance partners almost immediately. What he hadn't expected, though, was to watch as Bucky took to it like a fish to water, matching his partners easily, occasionally adding in old-timey dance moves that somehow actually worked with the pulsing bass of the club's dance tracks, and just looking like he was having the time of his life, while making sure to show the guys he partnered with the same courtesy.

Steve hadn't been joking when he'd said Barnes was a charming son of a bitch. Hell, after a few minutes of watching him, Sam had half a mind to quit nursing his drink and join him for a dance as well.

His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of his phone vibrating in his back pocket. With a frown, Sam set his drink on the bar and dug it out, sliding it open and reading the new message waiting for him on the screen.

 **23:19 Text From: Steve Rogers**

 _Hey Sam, it's Steve. Is Bucky w you? He isn't answering his phone._

Sam rattled his phone against the bar for a moment, debating how to answer. He wondered how much Bucky had told Steve; if he even knew they'd gone out together… ugh, he hated this unnecessary covert shit.

 **23:21 Text To: Steve Rogers**

 _hey steve yeah he's here. kinda busy at the moment, is it an emergency?_

 **23:22 Text From: Steve Rogers**

 _No, it's no problem. Just wanted to make sure._

 **23:23 Text To: Steve Rogers**

 _k – it's pretty loud and he's on the dance floor, probably just couldn't hear his phone_

The reply text-bubble appeared almost immediately on Sam's message screen, but then flashed away without a response. The same thing happened multiple times over the next few minutes, and Sam bit his lip, wondering if he'd already given away too much. He could practically feel the disappointment oozing through the phone from Steve's end, without having even received a verbal response from the guy. Finally, a new text came through.

 **22:34 Text From: Steve Rogers**

 _Oh._

Sam hadn't thought it was possible to convey that much emotion in a single word of a text. Steve might as well have just snapped a selfie of the kicked-puppy face Sam absolutely knew he was giving his phone.

 **22:35 Text From: Steve Rogers**

 _He didn't say you were going dancing._

Sam frowned at his phone screen, feeling a sense of dread run down his spine. He'd felt bad about the situation with Bucky keeping – whatever this was – from Steve from the get go, but with the palpable disappointment in his text responses the ominous feeling only grew worse. While he respected Bucky's privacy and whatever it was that was convincing him that he couldn't come out to his best friend, Sam was fairly certain that continuing to keep it all under wraps would only blow up in all of their faces.

He glanced up at the dance floor again, searching for Bucky as he racked his brain for the best, gentlest way to convince him to tell Steve the truth. When Sam finally got a visual on him, though, his shock over what he saw overpowered his concern. Bucky was still in the same spot he'd last seen him, only now was busy grinding with a tiny blonde hipster – or at least, Sam assumed he was a hipster, given his ultra-skinny jeans and ridiculous undercut. As he watched the two of them gyrate against each other, Sam started feeling his neck heat up… they'd started making out, and Sam had the uncomfortable suspicion that the blonde was about to climb his friend like a tree.

Sam immediately turned his attention back to the bar, trying not to feel like a perv as he picked up his drink and drained it in a single gulp. If he was honest with himself that had not been at all what he'd expected Bucky to go for. He'd figured he would be into more stacked guys, guys with muscular builds more like his own. Even as his mind turned the thought over, though, Sam remembered the Captain America exhibit the Smithsonian had been touting so heavily that he hadn't been able to help poking his head in the week prior. In particular, his subconscious decided to focus on the image of little, skinny Steve Rogers before he underwent the still-classified procedures for Project Rebirth that turned him into the wall of muscle he was now.

"Fuck," Sam muttered to himself, before signaling for the bartender as it all slid into place. He was so not trying to get involved with this kind of drama, tonight especially.

Before Sam could get another order in a white, sandy-haired guy with a decent build leaned into the spot next to him, giving Sam a once-over before smirking slightly. "Rough night?"

"You could say that," Sam responded vaguely, his eyes immediately tracking to where Bucky and his knock-off mini-Steve were still having a time.

New guy chuckled, "I can only imagine – that's the trouble with having someone so hot, they attract too much attention."

"Oh," Sam responded, shaking his head, "No man, he's not my boyfriend. Just a friend I was here to provide obviously unnecessary moral support for."

"Obviously," the man responded drolly, using his straw to stir his drink in a clear effort to look casual. "So you're just here to be a good friend? Or were you interested in having a good time for yourself, too?"

Now it was Sam's turn to give the guy a proper once-over… he wasn't bad-looking by any means (he pushed away the intrusive voice that pointed out how much the guy looked like Riley), and while Sam had no interest in hooking up that night, dancing would be a fun way to pass the time and blow off some steam. "I'd be up for dancing, yeah – if you think you can keep up."

New guy laughed and drained his glass, before moving it back to the bar. "Yeah, I don't think that'll be a problem." He said coyly, before making his way onto the dance floor.

Sam followed close behind, giving Bucky one more glance – he was still wrapped up in the music, dancing with the same tiny blonde partner. Whatever came out of tonight was bound to be a mess, Sam was sure, but as the guy from the bar grabbed his hips and started moving to the rhythm of the song bumping over head, Sam decided to let it go. Bucky and Steve were both adults, and one way or another they were both going to have to deal with their shit, whether Sam interfered in it or not. Instead of worrying about it any farther, Sam let himself get lost in moving to the lights and sounds of the dance floor.


	16. Chapter 16: May 2014

Steve did his best to focus on Rumlow's rundown of the situation on board the Lemurian Star as the quinjet they were flying in hauled ass across the Indian Ocean, although the information he was delivering coupled with the irritation Steve had been feeling regarding what he was internally calling The Bucky Situation wasn't exactly making it easy to stay impartial.

"Why are the demands so steep?" He asked, after Rumlow had quoted the price the pirates who had taken control of the ship were asking for was one and a half billion dollars.

"Because it's SHIELD," Rumlow answered smarmily, grinding Steve's gears all the more.

"So it isn't off-course, it's trespassing." He muttered, lowly enough that Natasha and Bucky were sure to be the only two to pick it up. "I'm getting really sick of being Fury's janitor…"

"Relax," Romanoff sighed, "I'm sure Fury has a good reason for stationing it where it was – the situation really isn't that complicated."

"How many pirates?" Bucky chimed in, nodding towards Rumlow as he finished inspecting his rifle.

Rumlow ran down the numbers and the known statistics on their targets – it didn't seem like any of them individually would be too terrible of a challenge, but between their numbers and the fact that there were hostages to save involved, Steve knew it wasn't going to be a walk in the park. And that he had to get his damned head on straight.

"Alright," he started, "I'm going to search the deck and find Batroc. Nat, you get into the engine room – kill the engines and wait for instructions. Barnes," a weird charge seemed to go through the air, and although he wasn't looking at her Steve could feel the suspicious look that Natasha was giving them both, "you get yourself into position so that you have a view into the galley, be ready to take out any of the men inside in the event that they realize we're on board and try to start killing the hostages. And Rumlow, you sweep aft, find the hostages – stay in touch with Bucky to make sure they're alive, then get 'em to the life pods and get 'em out."

There was a flurry of movement around the cabin of the quinjet as they all set themselves to preparing to drop onto the ship below. Steve checked his com system as Natasha finished securing her parachute, confirming that they were both online. "So…" she said as she watched Steve secure his ear piece, looking back and forth between him and where Bucky was stowing his rifle in its water-tight case, "You boys do anything fun this weekend?"

Steve could see the muscle in Bucky's jaw tense, and it immediately set off the same sick feeling of hurt that had been churning in his belly since he'd texted Sam a few nights prior. "Afraid I didn't get up to much," he responded, knowing full-well that it was petty but unable to bring himself to care. Bucky's insistence that he'd never invited Steve along in the first place was because he'd spent the entirety of their youth listening to Steve bitch about dance halls while they were on double dates was a relatively reasonable one, but it didn't make the fact that he hadn't even bothered to ask Steve bother him any less.

Natasha gave Bucky a long, thoughtful look, before sighing. "Right. So we're down to one hermit to deal with… you know Steve, if you asked Kristin out from statistics, she'd probably say yes."

"That's why I don't ask," Steve responded with a dry smile, deciding to ignore her opening barb in favor of pulling his helmet on and securing it. "I'm not really interested in anything at the moment."

An announcement came over the PA system that they were nearing the drop point, and Steve moved to grab his parachute as Natasha hit the button to open the hold doors. "Alright – Steve's still busy being a lame homebody. Bucky? You remember the cute blonde…"

Bucky had just finished securing his rifle pack to his back, and paused as he reached for a parachute, obviously uncomfortable as Natasha watched him like a hawk. "Ah, yeah, actually. I, um – have a date lined up this week, already."

"You what?" Steve asked incredulously, his fingers feeling numb around the straps of the parachute that he hadn't even bothered to slide on yet. It had been bad enough that Bucky had gone out with Sam and not invited Steve along – but the idea that he'd asked someone out and not bothered to tell Steve a lick of it set off all kinds of warning claxons in his head.

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly, his eyes tracking very quickly to where STRIKE Team Alpha was still prepping their gear before turning his attention back to Natasha and Steve and repeating himself. "I said I've already got a date. Tomorrow night… I, ah, met someone. While I was out last weekend."

"What's her name?" Natasha asked smoothly, as if they were gossiping around the office water cooler and not seconds away from jumping out of a plane onto a pirate-captured ship.

Despite the absurdity of it all, Steve still hadn't put the parachute on. He found himself unable to move, waiting for Bucky to answer. For his part, Bucky looked even more worked up about it than Steve felt, shuffling his feet and glancing uncomfortably in Rumlow's direction, his own parachute still hanging uselessly in his hands. After at least an eternity of frowning at the floor, Bucky straightened his back, looking them both firmly in the eye before answering softly, "Brendan. His name's Brendan."

If either of them said anything else, Steve didn't hear it; he didn't hear anything other than an odd buzzing in his ears. For some reason he felt like he'd been doused in cold water, but his face felt like it was on fire, and all the while the only thing his brain was good for was screaming at him about what Bucky had just said. Bucky had a date he hadn't told Steve about. Bucky had a date with a man that he hadn't told Steve about. Because Bucky liked men, apparently, and he'd never fucking told Steve as much.

When his brain finally did come back online, it was to remind Steve that he was over the drop point for the Lemurian Star, and that he might feel a bit better if he could just punch things really, really hard. The good news was there was a ship full of pirates who deserved exactly that. The bad news was, with the parachute that was now sitting at his feet, it would take a while to get to them, and very possibly give away the fact that he was inbound, making the fight that much harder. So… Steve did the most impulsively reckless thing he could think of, in desperate need of the adrenaline rush to get his head back on straight.

He turned and jumped out the open hatch of the quinjet, parachute be damned.

As the cold night air rushed past his body Steve finally felt his mind beginning to calm, focusing instead on how best to hit the water to not sustain an injury from the impact. He instinctively straightened out into a diver's pose, increasing his velocity but also minimizing the amount of area that would break through the surface of the water. His fists ended up slamming through the surface of the ocean waters below, and while the force was jarring he had no problem reversing his course in the water and swimming back to the surface. He'd barely had time to locate the ship in relation to where he'd landed before there was a splash nearby – seconds later Bucky's head surfaced, looking around anxiously before his face pulled an angry scowl when he caught Steve's eye.

"What the FUCK was that, Steve?" He asked tightly, readjusting the rifle pack on his shoulder as an aside.

"The quickest and stealthiest way to the ship," Steve replied nonchalantly, turning and beginning to swim towards the nearby ship.

"We were still over a mile above the water," Bucky hissed, although from the sounds of it he had begun swimming as well. "You dove without a parachute – you could've fucking died."

"Yeah, and you followed after," Steve muttered over his shoulder.

"I have an indestructible arm to break the surface tension with, you didn't even use your god-damned shield!" Bucky seethed. "And of course I followed after, I'm not about to let your dumb ass bust your arms and drown because you blew a fuse."

Steve ignored him completely; it wasn't worth the argument, and he'd already reached the hull of the ship – the last thing they needed was to draw the attention of the crew before they'd boarded arguing about something so stupid. Thankfully, Bucky must have realized as much as well, as he let the topic drop and started scaling the side of the ship a few feet away.

There was an armed guard passing a few feet in front of Steve as he reached the guard rail of the main deck, so he flipped himself over it effortlessly and choked the guy out before he could be discovered. A few feet to his right, Bucky had grabbed another guard, overpowering him easily with his metal arm and using the butt of the guy's own gun to knock him cold. From there they set off at a sprint, making their way anticlockwise around the deck of the ship, silently taking down the guard as they went. They seemed to be moving quickly enough that no alarm had been raised yet – each man that they met was alone, and Steve did his best to stay in front of Bucky and take each one out well before he could radio for help. It wasn't until they got to the middle of the ship, where the majority of the guard seemed to be stationed, that they met any real resistance.

The fight was short, quiet, and brutal; despite how awkward it felt to be angry with Bucky, a thought that was definitely still lodged in the back of Steve's mind, fighting alongside him was every bit as routine as usual. He took a guard out with a single punch, simultaneously passing the shield off to Bucky who blocked the bullet that another had fired at them, before passing it back and kicking the guy so hard in the chest that he was thrown off the edge of the ship. One of the idiots came at Steve with a knife, which he easily pulled from his grip before kneeing him in the jaw, while some poor bastard to his left dove at them and was met with Bucky's left jab. He heard movement to their right and noticed one of the pirates reaching for an alarm on the ship's wall – without thinking, Steve chucked the knife that he still had in his grasp, and taking out the guy's hand as it was still in motion. He leapt easily over the railing that separated them, and kicked the guy in the face before his screaming could draw any further attention.

Before he could turn away from the wall, Steve heard the safety of a gun disengage, and glanced over his shoulder to see a final pirate advancing on him, gun ready and aimed for his head. A split second later, Bucky appeared out of the shadows, and the pirate dropped to the deck with a hole in his forehead.

"Listen, Steve…" Bucky panted, stowing his sidearm and staring down at the dropped pirate at their feet.

"Sergeant," Steve cut him off roughly, not wanting to deal with whatever he was about to say. "You have your orders, get up in the air and put yourself in position to take out whoever they have guarding the hostages, we have a couple dozen lives at stake."

Bucky blinked at him for a second, his eyes wide and obviously hurt by the harsh rebuttal (Steve tried to remember if he'd ever pulled rank on his friend before – judging by Buck's reaction, he hadn't) before straightening up and giving Steve a harsh salute. "Sir, yes sir." He barked formally, before turning and scrambling up a nearby pole.

Steve remained where he was standing, watching Bucky go with a pang of regret for a few seconds before his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone landing next to him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Rumlow surveying the scene, smirking at all of the pirates they lay prone around them. "Well… looks like you guys really need to have us around."

"No one's done, yet." Steve responded with a grimace, before making his way towards the control deck of the ship, anticipating that he'd find Batroc there.

He'd been right, of course – a few minutes later Steve was positioned outside the observation deck of the ship, waiting for the rest of the team to finish their tasks so that he could take down Batroc himself. "Status report," he commanded over the radio.

"Targets acquired," Bucky's response came almost immediately, "Five of these idiots are lined up across from a bay of windows in the mess."

"STRIKE in position," Rumlow followed. "We've got a heat signature for the other two and all of the hostages."

Steve waited a few moments before breaking the radio silence. "Natasha, what's your status?" When he was met with no response, he transmitted again, "Natasha?"

"Hang on!" Came her harried response, followed by the sound of some poor bastard meeting a world of hurt before she cut her com. A few seconds passed before she radioed again. "Engine room secured."

"We're on Rumlow's mark, then." Steve confirmed.

He listened to the countdown on STRIKE's end, and within a minute Rumlow radioed again. "Targets eliminated, we're moving in on the hostages now."

That was Steve's cue, and he was all too ready to take it. He launched the shield through the glass of the observation tower with all of his might, then jumped through the resultant opening, running after Batroc as he saw the man sprint out of the closed space and onto the open deck.

The fight was a challenge, at least – Steve held back, knowing that it was imperative that they brought the jackass in alive for questioning… It was highly unlikely that the take-over of the ship had been on his own command, given the level of intel that would have been needed to decide to commandeer a SHIELD vessel in the first place. And Batroc certainly lived up to his billing as a high-level assassin; he was nearly matching Steve on a hit-for-hit basis, and continued getting up, regardless of what he hit him with. It was difficult, trying to find the appropriate level of power to use on the guy, especially given the fact that the only other person Steve had ever sparred with that could match him like this was Bucky, and he was sure that hitting him that hard would result in a dead target and more paperwork than Steve cared to think about.

Finally, after Batroc had taunted him into dropping the shield and removing his helmet, Steve was able to drop him with a well-timed roundhouse kick to the jaw. He knelt beside him after, glad to feel a pulse, before making his way back into the ship, following his instinct to make a final sweep for pirates and figuring that his main target wouldn't be coming to anytime soon.

Steve crept quietly into the ship's control room, sensing that there was still someone inside, only to freeze when he caught an all-too-familiar red headed woman leaning over one of the computers inside, typing furiously.

"Natasha?" He asked incredulously, "what the hell are you doing?"

"Backing up the hard drive," Romanoff responded smartly, "it's a good habit to get into."

Steve frowned as he watched file after file of SHIELD data fly by on the screen in front of them. Why the hell would Romanoff feel the need to hack a ship of their own? "Rumlow could have used your help…" he griped, not bothering to acknowledge her teasing.

"Rumlow had an entire team of SHIELD's finest and the best sniper in the world," she responded in a bored tone, pulling a thumb drive out of the ship's computer after a few final keystrokes, "I knew he'd have it under control."

"But our mission," Steve continued, "was to rescue the captives."

"No," Natasha drawled, "that was your mission, and you did a spectacular job."

Before Steve could say anything further, he heard the door creak open and glanced up just in time to register Batroc's retreating form, as well as the grenade he had thrown in their direction. Acting on pure instinct, Steve grabbed Natasha around the waist, pulling her tightly against his side and diving through a bank of windows into an adjacent room, using the shield to block the both of them from the worst of the blast. Although it had kept them safe for the most part, they both still ended up showered in suit and struggling for breath when they hit the ground.

"Sorry, that was on me," Natasha groaned, pushing herself into a seated position.

"You're god damned right it was," Steve growled back, not bothering to hide how angry he was. After giving himself a moment to catch his breath, he rose to his feet, unable to even bring himself to look back at Nat before making his way out onto the deck.

Of course, the first thing he saw when he walked out of the charred computer room was Batroc's dropped form and Bucky's panicked face as he made his way away from it. "Steve! Are you alright? Where's – "

"We're both fine," Steve responded coldly, hating how his guts still squirmed when Bucky looked at him like that, despite everything that had happened between them over the course of the past few days. "Get him in shackles before he wakes up again, then let's wrap this up and get the hell out of here."

Thankfully, the arrangements for getting the hostages off of the ship safely, securing the remaining living pirates to be transported to a SHILED detention center, and finally getting their entire crew back onto a quinjet to head back to DC took enough of Steve's attention that he wasn't able to think about any of his personal feelings regarding the night's events.

Onboard the jet, Steve grabbed a free StarkPad and set himself to typing up his post-mission logs, hoping that by keeping his mind busy, he would be able to ignore the hurt of realizing that both Bucky and Natasha had been hiding things for him. Of course, it didn't actually work. While it was nice to have the paperwork out of the way, it meant that the entire trip back to DC was a nearly-silent, uncomfortable mess, with the entirety of STRIKE Alpha tiptoeing around the three of them.

They arrived shortly before dawn, with a message from Fury waiting for them that none of them were t report until the following day, and instructions to rest up in the meantime. Steve had no problem following the orders – he made his way directly to the parking lot below where he'd stowed his Harley, then rode back to their apartment on his own, not even bothering to change out of his uniform.

He spent the rest of the day holed up in his bedroom, ignoring Bucky's single, half-assed attempt to apologize through the door and stewing in his anger. It was bad enough to be so consistently reminded that they couldn't exactly trust the agency that they worked under; the fact that Natasha, and even worse, Bucky, had been keeping secrets from him as well were the final straws for Steve. He considered escaping around mid-day, hoping that a visit to Peggy or even Sam might cheer him up, but he remembered how poorly Peg had been doing lately and the fact that Sam had been in on the whole Bucky mess from the first place, and instead decided to roll over in bed and continue wallowing.

Steve waited thirty minutes after Bucky had announced that he was leaving before finally abandoning the room, finally giving in to his stomach's angry demands and making a b-line for the kitchen where he threw together an enormous sandwich and devoured it over the sink, then downed half a jug of milk, sighing in relief when the headache that had been gathering all afternoon finally abated.

He frowned as the buzz of the front door's call button broke the silence of the apartment, setting his empty glass to the side of the sink as he made his way to the intercom next to the entryway. He hadn't expected Bucky to be back for hours, and he'd have taken his keys anyway – considering it wasn't a Sunday so Sam shouldn't be stopping by, Steve had no idea who would be ringing their doorbell at 19:00 on a Wednesday night.

"Hello?" He asked gruffly, pressing the 'Talk' button on the intercom before moving to the 'Listen' button, fully expecting it to be a stranger with the wrong apartment number.

"Hey," Natasha's voice answered through the speaker, "I thought I'd stop by with a peace offering… let me up for a second?"

Steve sighed as he rested his forehead against the door jamb – he wanted nothing more than to tell her to take a hike, all too happy to wallow in self-pity on his own for the rest of the night, but even as well as he knew Nat he couldn't bring himself to be so rude to a lady. Especially to one who was apparently trying to make him feel better. He wordlessly hit the 'Open' button for the entry door, waiting listlessly in the entryway as he waited for her to make her way up the stairs.

A few seconds later, there was a sharp knock on the door. Steve took a deep breath before opening it part-way, looking out to see Natasha standing in the hallway, a paper bag under her arm and an unreadable smirk on her face.

"I'm still not going to apologize for the mission," she said without preamble, "but considering what tonight is, I thought I'd bring by a peace offering."

"What's tonight?" Steve asked innocently, doing his best not to wince when she leveled him with an unimpressed glare.

"I might even stick around to commiserate with you," Natasha continued on, completely ignoring Steve's stupid question. "If you'll answer something for me."

Steve sighed and moved aside, pulling the door open completely so that Natasha could follow him into the apartment to ask whatever it was in private. She had the decency to do as much before asking, "What the hell was it about Bucky's little announcement that set you off so badly last night?"

"It took me by surprise," Steve answered simply. "We've been sharing everything our entire life, so hearing that he had a date out of the blue… it was just an unpleasant shock, is all."

"So it wasn't to do with the fact that he's going out with a man?" Natasha asked bluntly.

"Of course not!" Steve answered immediately; offended that she would even assume such a thing. "Are you kidding? I mean, I know the stereotypes about our generation, but we lived in the queerest neighborhood in Brooklyn. There were plenty of guys around who had relations with other guys – I didn't give a damn. Hell, you can ask Bucky next time you see him, I got my ass kicked a few times trying to keep them from getting their heads smashed in." Natasha raised her eyebrows slightly, so Steve continued his ranting, incensed that anyone would think so lowly of him. "I ain't got a problem with queers, and Bucky… Christ, Bucky's my family. He's my whole damned world. Who he wants to make time with doesn't change that a lick."

Natasha gave him a soft smile as Steve finally sputtered out. "I get it," she responded quietly, before making her way into the living room. "And good… I figured that was the case, but I wasn't about to stand by quietly if your hissy-fit was the start of some old-fashioned homophobia that was going to lead to Barnes getting hurt." She opened the bag, pulling out a tub of ice cream and a full bottle of vodka and setting both on the coffee table, before nodding in Steve's direction. "I brought vanilla bean and a bottle of Moscow's finest – grab us a couple of spoons and glasses, would you?"

Steve paused for a moment to try to figure out what the hell the two had to do with each other, before retreating into the kitchen with a soft chuckle and a "Yes, ma'am." He pulled the glasses down out of their cupboards, glancing at the adjacent door as he did. "Don't we need bowls, too?"

"It's not a proper girls' night if we don't eat the ice cream directly out of the carton, Rogers." Nat called from the living room.

"Dunno if it's escaped your notice, Romanoff," Steve scoffed, grabbing the glasses in one hand and the spoons in the other, "but I'm not exactly a girl."

"Semantics," she replied with a lazy wave of her hand, not looking away from the Medal of Honor plaques, complete with their enlistment photos, which were hanging on the wall.

Steve came to a stop in the doorway to the living room, watching closely as Natasha made a slow circuit around the room, studying all of the photos that were displayed. It occurred to Steve that, outside of Sam, they'd never had anyone over to see the place – for some reason, watching her applying what looked like the same level of scrutiny as she did examining mission briefs made Steve supremely uncomfortable. He tracked over the photos as she did, the huge collage of shots that Bucky took during their road trip, the strip of goofy black and white photos from the photo booth they'd found while visiting Coney Island, the countless prints of 'selfies' Bucky had insisted on taking and printing during the small side-trips they'd taken over the years, tucked in among the old prints of the Brooklyn they had called home in the thirties and forties, which Tony had insisted on sending as housewarming gifts when they'd moved to DC.

She spent a long time looking at a photo of the two of them, arms around each other and posed at the rim of the Grand Canyon – Bucky had asked someone in passing to get a picture of them once they'd finally gotten themselves together on the afternoon of their arrival, said that they needed to commemorate finally achieving a life-long goal. It sat on the mantle next to the framed wedding portrait of Sarah and Joseph Rogers (Bucky's Christmas present their first year out of the ice, which he'd apparently found a way to wheedle away from the Smithsonian without Steve having known it had ever even existed), and the faded sepia print of the four Barnes siblings in front of their old Brownstone (Steve had gotten it from Becca's daughter and given it to Bucky for his birthday a few months later). The intimacy of it all suddenly occurred to Steve, and he found himself needing to call Natasha's attention away from them as quickly as possible.

"All set, then," he called out, perhaps a bit too loudly as he tried to get Natasha to come back to the couch before she could pay too much attention to the series of Steve's drawings from their road trip that Bucky had insisted on having framed. "Did you want me to put a movie or something on? We've been watching a lot of Breaking Bad lately…"

Natasha turned from the wall with a smile that was impossible for Steve to read and shook her head as she made her way to the couch. "No television, Rogers – it'll interfere with our talk."

Steve hoped that his dread wasn't overly-obvious on his face as he sat down next to her, peeling the lid off of the ice cream container as Natasha poured vodka into their tumblers like it was water, then grabbed one of the spoons.

"You boys have done an impressive job of building a life here, all things considered," she said mildly before taking a dainty bite of ice cream.

Steve shrugged, staring into the carton of ice cream instead of looking at Natasha. "I mean – we've had a lot of good suggestions on things to do. And it helps to have money to actually be able to go places, now. So it's just a matter of making time to do stuff and one of us picking something. It's not really that special."

"No, I mean it," she responded. "Part of the reason I've hounded you so much about the dating was out of concern that you were both just sitting here miserably in your apartment, but – seeing this all makes me feel considerably better."

Steve shrugged, taking a spoonful of ice cream for himself and looking around at the photos again, considering. "It's been hard," he finally admitted, "everything is frightening and weird, and it hurts to know that everyone else that we ever cared about is gone. But…" his eyes stuck for a moment on the photo booth strip, and a smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth as he remembered how fun a day they'd had back in their old haunts on the boardwalk. "But it's also been good." He finished fervently.

Even as he was in the process of saying it, it hit him – that was ultimately what was bothering him most about the situation with Bucky. Steve had really thought that what they had here was good, was enough for the both of them to at least be content, but apparently Bucky needed more. And if that was the case, how much longer would it be before Bucky found someone better for him and decided to abandon Steve altogether? Steve would hardly be able to blame him – who wouldn't want to look for someone who wasn't still plagued by night terrors that interrupted both of their sleeping schedules, or who still had awful days when he got stuck stewing in terrible memories for no discernible reason. He already had a new, more fun friend in Sam, apparently… and knowing Buck, it would take no time at all for him to have a proper boyfriend as well, assuming he wanted it.

Hell, a guy would have to be a complete, certifiable idiot to turn him down.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Natasha asked gently, interrupting Steve's wallowing as she reached over and stole another spoonful of ice cream.

Steve felt his cheeks flush, hating the way that it really felt as if Natasha was capable of reading his thoughts. If she'd picked up on that last one… "Shouldn't they be worth at least a couple dollars by this point? With inflation and all."

"Ha," Natasha said shortly, mocking his attempt at joking and taking a drink of her vodka before settling further into the couch. "Come on – something's bugging you, you've got that weird emotionally constipated face going. Spill it; I swear it'll make you feel better."

Steve sighed, not believing Nat a bit but knowing better than to think that he could convince her otherwise. "I guess – I've just been really content with all of this, and didn't really think that we could be any happier, given our situations," he admitted. "So – finding out that it wasn'tenough for Bucky, and that I'd missed that, and everything else that he's apparently been hiding from me; it's hard, is all. And it makes me worry about what else I haven't paid attention to."

Natasha watched him carefully as he spoke, and continued to stare at him shrewdly after Steve finished talking. He shifted uncomfortably, hating the feeling of being examined – even though he'd been largely truthful, those piercing green eyes seemed to be digging for even more information, things he wasn't willing to share with anyone other than James Barnes, for now.

"Here's what I think…" Natasha finally said, throwing back the rest of her vodka like it was nothing and setting her glass down on the table. "And please appreciate that I don't usually dole out advice lightly – I have always thought it better for people to figure their lives out on their own, but I can't sit by and watch you two flounder any longer.

"You need to think about what Bucky really means to you, and how you want your relationship to play out, and then the two of you need to sit down and actually talk about it. Because I get the feeling that neither of you have been honest with yourselves or each other about how you feel," she gave Steve a sharp look as she said it, effectively killing off any attempt that he might have thought of making at an argument, "and while your friendship has been strong enough to withstand it so far, especially while you've been so reliant on each other in dealing with our brave new world, the time is going to come when the strain of everything else starts to get to it."

Steve could only nod silently; she was right, of course, and their history was even more complicated than Natasha could know – but he wasn't about to admit as much. Hell, it involved things that even Bucky didn't know yet, and after spending an entire day being sore over what had happened on the quinjet, Steve wasn't about to turn around and be complete hypocrite.

"Just think on it," Natasha said again, setting her spoon in her glass and rising from the couch, cutting off Steve's train of thought. "You've both been victims of your situations for long enough – maybe it's time you finally take advantage of the positive changes the future's made."

She was already pulling her coat on by the door before Steve realized that she was leaving, so he grabbed the largely full vodka bottle and capped it as he made his way to the door. "You don't want to forget this," he said lamely, holding it out as he approached.

Natasha smiled kindly at it and shook her head as she paused with her hand on the doorknob. "Keep it – I have plenty at my disposal. It isn't exactly the best for thinking, if you aren't used to it, but it does a hell of a job at loosening tongues if you need it." Before Steve could insist on her taking it, Natasha dropped a quick wink and made her way out the door, leaving him standing like an idiot in the empty entry to the apartment.

He blinked for a second at the door, before turning his attention to the bottle in his hand. He and Bucky had come to an easy agreement early-on after thawing that they wouldn't keep more than a single bottle of whiskey in the house… they'd both seen far too many vets from the first great war lost to the bottle while they were growing up, and while neither really thought that they were as haunted as the poor guys they'd remembered, they still had enough nightmares and lost enough sleep that they weren't willing to take the risk. Bucky had been especially adamant about it, but Steve thought that might have had to do with the amount of drinking he'd done immediately after getting out of Kreischberg – he'd been lucky enough to break the habit, and didn't seem to want to take the risk of falling back into it.

But tonight – Steve thought back on how he'd been feeling since Bucky's announcement on the quinjet, and since realizing that he and Sam had gone out without even a half-assed attempt at inviting Steve along. He thought of all of the years that he'd berated himself for obsessively sketching out Bucky's lips, had indulged in unspeakable fantasies revolving around his mouth and his hands, had agreed to go along on insufferable double dates solely for the sake of watching Bucky work a dance floor and being able to pretend that it had been just the two of them out after they'd dropped their girls at home; only to find out that his best friend had liked guys (who were not Steve, of course) all along. He thought of how hypocritical he'd been over the years, and how difficult the conversation that Natasha had rightly insisted they needed to have was going to be.

The last time that Steve had been properly drunk had been February of '42, when Bucky had left for Basic and Steve had spent the night emptying the pint of bourbon he'd left behind, then the following day being sick out of his mind. It wasn't as if a single bender would turn him into an alcoholic bum, and considering the serum, he probably wouldn't even have to suffer through a hangover in the morning. That decided, he took a swig directly from the bottle, grimacing as it burned its way down his throat and making his way to their record collection, picking out a few of his favorite old standards and putting them on the gramophone.

Steve wasn't totally aware of how much time had passed between the vodka bottle running out, him digging the whiskey bottle out of the cabinet above the kitchen sink and switching records, the whiskey running out as well, the record player clicking off, and the sound of Bucky's keys finally turning in the door; but judging by how dark the room was he knew it had been hours since Natasha had left. The bitch of it all was that he'd barely even felt a buzz, despite all of the hard liquor he'd apparently knocked back. He looked at the mess that was still sitting on the coffee table – he could rush around to dump it all in the kitchen and go back to hiding in his room, especially considering how long Buck seemed to be pausing in the entryway, but ultimately he knew he couldn't continue moping as he'd been for the past week.

Finally, Bucky made his way into the living room, frowning slightly as he made eye contact with Steve. "It smells like a distillery in here…"

"Yeah – 'mafraid the whiskey's gone," Steve answered apologetically, gesturing to the empty bottle on the right. "I'll get you another bottle. Turns out I can't get drunk, though."

"I coulda told you that…" Bucky responded with a rueful smile, hesitating for a second before crossing the living room and dropping into his usual end of the couch. "Do you have any idea how many bars I cleaned out in Poland, of real wodka? I got pretty desperate to try to forget the shit that had happened at Kreischberg, especially at the end of that first year of raids, but the shit barely touched me. And my serum wasn't even done cookin'…"

Steve frowned at that, glancing askance at Bucky. Immediately he felt his usual guilt for not having noticed how much trouble his friend had been having during combat, only tonight it was coupled with how shitty a friend he'd been lately – especially for the past week. Hell, based on the way he'd reacted to the news of the date, Steve could hardly blame Bucky for not having told him that he was into guys earlier. He licked his lips, doing his best to sound nonchalant as he asked, "So. How was the date?"

Bucky considered him for a moment out of the side of his eye, his face a bit skeptical before he shrugged and leaned further back into the couch. "It was alright… it actually went pretty good."

Steve nodded encouragingly, before asking, "You gonna see him again?"

There, that was good, Steve thought, ignoring the way that his throat closed up at the thought. He could be supportive of Bucky having a boyfriend, or whatever they were called – even if the thought made him feel like he was going to die of jealousy.

"Ah – no, I don't think so." Bucky answered awkwardly. "We, uh, both agreed that it was fun but didn't really see things going anywhere."

Steve swallowed down a relieved sigh, trying not to be glad for the fact that his best friend's date had been a bust and failing horribly at it. They sat in horribly awkward silence for a long while; neither of them making eye contact until Bucky finally sighed and picked at a rip in his jeans. "Steve, I really am sorry for everything. Can we… is there anything I can do to make things right? Cuz I fuckin' hate this, right now, and I have no clue where to even start."

Steve pressed his palms flat against his lap and stared at them in silence, feeling exactly the same but having no idea how to respond. Finally, he spoke up himself. "It's not the fact that you wanted to go out with a guy, Buck – it was the fact that you never even told me that you liked them in the first place. That's a pretty big secret to keep for your entire life."

"I know," Bucky responded weakly, "And I've wanted to tell you at least a million times, but I could never figure out how to do it properly…"

"But you told someone else," Steve said pointedly. "And then you dropped it on me out of the blue, right in front of Natasha and a quarter of STRIKE."

"I told Sam cuz I knew he'd keep it to himself if I asked, and I didn't want to hide it forever, and I admitted it when I did because I didn't want to keep lying to you, not when you were already so mad at me," Bucky explained. "I had been planning on tellin' you eventually, I just… hadn't worked out how, yet. I didn't want it to make things weird between us, ruin all of the good things we had."

"You being queer wouldn't've mattered to me, Bucky – it wouldn't have changed a damn thing." Steve sighed, hurt that Bucky could even think that who he wanted to be romantic with would make Steve care about him any less. "You have to know that." He added, hating the sad smile Bucky had given him in response.

"No, I do – I always did, it just…" Bucky huffed in frustration, pushing himself off of the couch and pacing back and forth along the length of the coffee table in agitation. "I've been trying my best to ignore it for so long, cuz it was easier to just pretend none of those feelings existed. Admitting it to you would've made it more real, which would have made it harder to keep the skirt chasin' act up, and then…" He swallowed thickly, his pacing extending to the length of the room so that he was looking out the window to the street below. "It was bad enough to have to worry about getting force-fed the business end of a baseball bat or bein' thrown in the slammer – I was a coward and didn't want that for myself, and the idea of what my parents and the girls would've had to face if everyone knew I was a queer…"

He trailed off, tapping his fingers on the glass of the window a couple of times, the metal drumming loudly in the quiet of the room. "But the worst part," Bucky continued roughly, "the worst part was thinking –" he shook his head roughly, and Steve remained silent on the couch, not wanting to make whatever Bucky was about to say any harder on him.

"People already made such awful assumptions about you, Stevie. If they'd known you'd been living with an invert all that time? Fuck, you'd have been murdered before the day was out. And I… from the first day I realized it, I'd've rather killed myself than risked that."

Steve drew in a long, slow breath, feeling nauseous as he imagined all of the fear thoughts like that must have caused Bucky over the years and came to terms with what he himself had been feeling – hell, had been doing – at the time. As he let the breath out, he remembered Natasha's advice, and decided that if Bucky was going to be brave enough to spill his guts, he damned well could as well.

"It wouldn't've been your fault if something'd happened to me for that, Buck." He admitted quietly, "And… I might've kinda earned some of the gossip that was goin' around about me."

There was a long, horrible beat of silence before Bucky turned to face him, his features difficult to make out with the light of the street behind him. "What're you saying?" He asked roughly.

"You remember Peter MacCaffrey? I'm pretty sure he was in that evening life-drawing class you came in and took with me…"

Bucky remained still as he thought on it, before murmuring, "The brown-haired Irish kid, right? With the curls?"

"Yeah, well… he was in most of my painting classes, too. And, ah – he had a room of his own in St. George."

Steve hadn't thought that Bucky's eyes could have possibly gone wider, but he was proven wrong as Bucky put together what he was saying. It didn't look like he'd so much as breathed before he finally responded, "I thought you were hookin' up with that little redhead in your printing class. Marcie or whatever her name was."

Steve felt his face flush spectacularly in response, and ducked his head as he nodded. "Er, yeah. I was. Pretty sure she knew about me and Pete all along, too, but – it wasn't like either of us was lookin' for anything more than a good time. Her dad had money and had been looking to marry her rich since she'd been born, we just kinda happened in the meantime."

Bucky blinked at him owlishly. Steve bit his lip and continued on, his heart thudding so horribly in his chest that he wondered if it was possible for his anxiety to have overpowered the serum and brought his irregular beat back. "I've done some reading on it, since coming out of the ice – there's a name for it, now. Bisexual. I, ah – I like some ladies, but I like some fellas, too."

"You mean to tell me," Bucky started, his voice perfectly even, "that you damned near killed yourself being reckless because you were mad I hadn't admitted to having queer feelings, even though you've been hanging on to the same damned secret for seventy years?"

Steve bit the inside of his cheek viciously at that, his eyes dropping to the melted remains of the ice cream carton on the table. He could tell that Bucky was pissed by the tone of his voice, and couldn't exactly blame the guy when he asked it like that – he had been a damned hypocrite. But… maybe he could make up for it by not being a coward any longer. He cleared his throat, trying his best to push down his panic, before answering. "I know, Buck – I know. It wasn't right for me to be mad, and it sure as hell wasn't right for me to keep it from you for so long. Er – I guess the jump mighta had to do with some jealousy, too."

"Jealousy over what?" Bucky asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steve scrubbed at his hair, psyching himself up. "Listen… I loved Peggy. Still do, truth be told," he stated, eyes never leaving Bucky's face. "But… Bucky, you've gotta know that I've loved you all along, too. The same damned way."

Halfway through Steve's admission Bucky's eyes had dropped to his shoes, and they remained there long after Steve had finished. He could see his lips trembling awkwardly as he stood there, but the only sounds in the room seemed to be the thud of Steve's nervous heart and the wall clock mocking their obvious discomfort.

"Please say somethin' Buck," Steve finally begged, unable to stand the tick of the clock any longer.

"You've always been it for me, Stevie…" Bucky finally whispered, his eyes shining brightly despite the low light of the room. "I've been settling since 1935 because I thought…" He ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair before scrubbing his face roughly. "Fuck, we've wasted so much time."

"We have," Steve admitted quietly, pushing himself off of the couch and moving across the room so that he was standing on front of Bucky, taking him gently by the shoulders and giving him a hopeful smile. "But… maybe we can try to make up for it?"

Bucky remained still for a moment, glancing at Steve's hands where they still rested on him before turning his gaze to Steve's and smiling gently. "Yeah," he finally murmured, "yeah… I'd like that." His grin grew wider as he finished saying it, then faded as he glanced at the clock with a sigh. "But – I got a call earlier this evening; I've got a solo mission tomorrow that they're sending me on, extraction at 04:30."

Steve glanced over his shoulder, disappointment setting in as he realized that it was already well-past midnight. So much for getting started.

Bucky pulled away from him, but took his hands as he did, squeezing them gently between them. "As soon as I'm back, though – we'll talk about this further, figure out how to set it right, okay?"

"Yeah, alright." Steve agreed easily, hating the fact that they were going to delay… whatever this was about to be even further, but glad to have it out in the open.

Bucky gave him one last smile, hesitating awkwardly for a few seconds before turning and making his way back towards his room. Steve tried not to think too much on the sense of disappointment he felt watching Bucky's retreating back, chalking it up to the fact that they were going to be separated again after finally feeling like they were getting their shit together. "G'night, Stevie," Bucky called quietly from the end of the hall.

"Night, Buck." Steve answered, before adding, "Be safe, alright?"

"Yeah – same, Punk." Bucky chuckled, closing the door behind him before Steve could say anything further.

He shook his head fondly, muttering "Jerk," on reflex, before picking up the living room and getting ready for bed, grinning like an idiot the entire time.

* * *

 **AN:** So now things get interesting... thanks so, so much to those of you who have favorited/left reviews, I can't say how much I appreciate the feedback! 3


	17. Authors Note - please read!

Hey guys - thanks so, so, SO much to those of you who have been reading/commenting/following this story, I can't say how much I appreciate the positive reviews! Unfortunately, FFN's formatting is KILLING me, so I'm not going to continue to post here - but rest assured there is a TON more to this story, we're actually just getting into the good parts. If you want to continue reading along, here is the link to Chapter 17 on AO3 (type in the main link for Archive of Our Own then copy and paste this behind it, or you can search "After The Bombs" by Fedzgurl): works/5228426/chapters/12891028

Sorry to do this, I just feel like the set-up of this site is detracting from the writing, and trying to keep the story updated on two sites was becoming too big of a pain.


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